


the half-life of an early dawn

by wintersrose616



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route Spoilers, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route Spoilers, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:34:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 38,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22992544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersrose616/pseuds/wintersrose616
Summary: Hilda hums, inspecting her nails. “Well, this rumour pertains to you whether you want it to or not. There are rumours that Dimitri is the one leading the army.”His jaw tenses and he glares at the cart full of rubble in front of him. He takes in a deep breath, counting to ten silently, before he forces out an answer. He is glad that his voice is level, at least. “Dimitri is dead. The ones that still believe otherwise are the ones that can’t accept reality.”“I can’t imagine what it must have been like.”“What must have been like?”Hilda’s expression grows somber, her brows furrowing in concern. “It must have been difficult, losing your best friend.”.Felix joined the Golden Deer House because of Byleth. He fights alongside the Alliance for a chance at ending this war.an alternate universe where verdant wind meets azure moon.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 88
Kudos: 190





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been calling this fic my monstrosity on twitter bc it's definitely turning out to be the longest fic I’ve written before! This is an AU where Felix is the only student that joined the Golden Deer house, largely bc of wanting to learn from Byleth.  
> title is from this quote, by Dag Hammarskjöld,
> 
> _‘You wake from dreams of doom and—for a moment—you know: beyond all the noise and the gestures, the only real thing, love's calm unwavering flame in the half-light of an early dawn.’_

The rolling hills at the base of the Oghma Mountains are quiet in a way that makes Felix’s hands tighten on the reins of his horse’s saddle. He can see the walls that surround the monastery village, the village proper no doubt left to decay after five years of war.

The sun shines brightly, barely a cloud in sight as he and his horse pick their way through overgrown plant life. Felix shields his eyes with a hand as he tilts his gaze up, _up_ , to the monastery that looms above them. Nestled against the cliffside, with the sun hitting it just so, Felix can see the damage from the distance. Destroyed towers, walls missing entire chunks of brickwork. It is a surprise to him, as he draws closer to the outer wall of the village, that the hulking stones still stand in one piece.

The shadows from the walls douse him and his horse in a stark chill as they cross through. There’s no snow on the ground here, but he knows the coolness in the air promises more than just frost in the morning. He slows his horse down as they pass through the walls and pulls his steed to a stop as he gets the first glimpse of the village. His eyes roam over the damage to the village, assessing and watching, just in case anyone _has_ decided to call this place home in the five years since.

There are very few houses that still stand. The rest lay in half-crumpled piles of rubble. Vines and other plant life have crawled their way through the ruins, winding up to cover the scars of what the war had brought. The wind rustles through the grass that’s overgrown in its time untended. The breeze turns into soft howls as it echoes through broken windows and smashed doors. The only other sound besides it is the steady sound of his horse’s hooves crunching against the dirt road as he kicks the mare back into motion.

Felix almost wishes he hadn’t come alone. _Almost_. He couldn’t see Sylvain dropping all of his duties in the north to come back to the monastery for a promise he hadn’t even made. The Golden Deer’s mystifying mercenary-turned-professor had only allured him out of the Blue Lions despite their best effort to get others in their class. He had truly only switched houses to train under them, to learn from someone who knew what they were doing. He hadn’t meant to get attached to any of the Deer, nor did he mean to get too attached to the promise to meet back at the monastery after a war had broken out.

He remembers the day of the attack well enough, even after five years of war. The Knights of Seiros outnumbered. Students frantically trying to escape. Smoke from fires, towers being collapsed by ballistae and then there had been that damned _dragon_.

It had been a frantic ordeal. As soon as the Imperial Army had crossed through the walls, everything had gone to shit. He had been with Marianne, fighting alongside her, when Sylvain and Ingrid had found him. Hilda had swooped in on a wyvern. He can still remember her frantic shrieks of, _“Marianne, get on this wyvern, right now! We are leaving and we are not arguing about this!”_ She had yelled at Felix to try to convince her to leave the monastery. Sylvain had agreed wholeheartedly that _they_ were leaving, so Marianne had to, too.

_“Where’s Professor Byleth?_ ” he had asked, voice clipped as he helped Marianne into the saddle behind Hilda.

The look on Hilda’s face was one he did not want to remember.

With the news that the professor had fallen, it had taken Sylvain’s manhandling to get him onto his horse. Everyone else had been retreating. Dimitri and Dedue were making certain the others were. Annette and Mercedes already had—Sylvain had gotten them on a horse together and sent it north before finding Ingrid. There were high chances that the rest of the Golden Deer had if Hilda had left Claude’s side. Felix hadn’t wanted to. His desire to get back to the monastery, fight his way through soldiers to see for certain that Byleth had fallen, hadn't been a match for Sylvain’s desperate strength. He had been tugged onto a saddle and forced to watch the monastery grow distant, smoke plumes billowing on the horizon long after the monastery itself had been swallowed by the peaks of the mountains.

The small creek that runs through the town is just an offshoot of a river half a mile away. Felix brings his horse to its bank, climbing off her back. He grabs his small pack, patting her neck.

“Stay safe,” he murmurs. “I’ll be back soon.”

His plans are simple: scout the grounds and see if anyone else was there. If there’s not, he’s going to return to his father’s soldiers in the midst of eastern Faerghus. Maybe Sylvain would be there—it had been a while since Felix had last gotten a letter from him. He had sent both Sylvain and Ingrid a quick message about his plans to scout the monastery out, but had left before any responses could come. His father was, surprisingly, supportive of this, though Felix had been prepared to leave anyway.

His father thought it would be beneficial. There had been rumours that bandits had taken up camp in the monastery since the church had abandoned it. Rodrigue had thought it might be good to see if they were bandits, or Imperial spies. Felix figures they’re bandits. He doesn’t think they’ll be that difficult to get through. Random thieves held nothing to soldiers from the Empire. 

The trek from the village to the grounds isn't long. By the time he’s reached them, though, he can already hear the familiar sounds of battle.

He finds what he hadn’t allowed himself to put too much hope into. He can see Hilda and Marianne, Lorenz and Leonie on horseback. Claude’s there, above them all on a wyvern, and when Felix catches sight of who’s fighting close to him, he feels his breath catch in his throat.

By the time the battle’s over, the others are surrounding their former professor, returned from the dead. Felix stays further back, trying not to be absorbed into the merriment of their reunion. Raphael had clapped him hard enough on the back for him to stumble and Lysithea’s hug had almost winded him before she left to go hug the professor.

Felix stares at them, struggling to process just what he’s feeling. Relief, certainly—but that could be because the others in the Golden Deer had all come back, had all survived. He had no idea if the twist to his heart was hope or not. If it is hope, he doesn’t want to think too much about who else he’s hoping he’ll see again.

He doesn’t get too much longer to dwell. Bright, green eyes find him through the sea of everyone. Claude grins at him, then bends slightly to murmur in the professor’s ears. That’s when _their_ own green eyes find Felix and they leave the others to approach.

“Felix.” The professor’s lips curl up only a bit, but their eyes crinkle in the corners. They reach a hand out, touch his arm comfortingly. “I’m glad to see you.”

“Yes, me too,” Felix says. He pauses, clears his throat and forces his gaze away. “I’m glad you’re not dead. It. . .” He thinks his words over. There’s a lot he wants to ask that he’s certain the others are going to. He settles for, “It would’ve been dull to not have a decent training partner.”

Byleth huffs a small laugh. “We’ll spar once everyone’s settled,” they say. “I promise. I have much to ask everyone about what’s happened.”

“Where were you?” Felix asks.

“Asleep.”

Felix narrows his eyes. His mouth opens. He readies to say, _While you slept, Dimitri died. While you slept, Edelgard started war. While you slept, we’ve been through hell_. He closes his jaw with a decisive click. That wasn’t fair to them. Dimitri hadn’t been their student. It wasn’t their fault that Cornelia had surrendered to Edelgard as soon as Dimitri had been executed. It wasn’t their fault that when Felix first heard the news it felt like he had been trodden under the hooves of thirteen horses. They held no responsibility to those from Faerghus. After his jaw works silently, he finds his voice.

“Asleep, huh?”

“I don’t understand it either,” they say.

“My friends!” Claude calls, and the professor’s attention is drawn away. When he is certain that everyone is looking, he winks, reminding Felix too much of Sylvain for comfort in the current moment. “I have snacks.”

_That_ statement alone gets the other’s moods lifted. Felix rolls his eyes, crossing his arms as Raphael _whoops_ enthusiastically and scoops Ignatz up into a hug, as boisterous as Felix remembered him to be.

“I’ll have to pass. I left my horse in the village. I need to fetch her.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Lorenz states, lifting his chin.

The others seem to agree. Leonie steps forward, holding the reins of her own horse in one hand, the other patting its neck. “C’mon, we’ll give you a ride.”

Felix narrows his eyes at her. While no one is seriously injured, they all sustained minor wounds. Cuts and scrapes. Felix can see Marianne tending to Hilda’s shoulder, from where she had taken a fall from her wyvern.

“Alright,” he concedes. “. . .Thank you.”

Leonie beams. “Not a problem!” With ease, she leaps onto her horse’s saddle, reaching down for Felix’s hand. “C’mon!”

“Be careful,” Professor Byleth says, tone serious. “There could be more bandits. Watch each other’s backs.”

“We will,” Felix states, taking Leonie’s hand.

He pulls himself up onto the saddle behind her, mulling over everything as Leonie kicks her steed into moving. There is silence between them, thankfully. He’s certain Leonie would’ve preferred staying back, talking with the others to figure out how their lives had gone, but she had always had a sense of duty surrounding those she considered her friends.

The silence between them isn’t broken until they’ve crossed through the monastery gates and are on the road to the village.

Leonie takes in a deep breath, exhaling it slowly. “Hey, Felix?”

He startles, just slightly, looking to her. “What?”

“I’m sorry about Dimitri,” she says, tone gentle.

Felix’s heart stutters. He looks away, despite Leonie not even glancing in his direction. “Yeah,” he manages, after a moment. “I am, too.”

He doesn’t want to voice his thoughts out loud. The professor had supposedly died, but they were back. Alive, and breathing, and fighting, and still the strongest person Felix had ever seen. If _they_ could manage it. . .  
Felix had never seen Dimitri’s severed head.

Maybe. _Maybe—_

He stops his thoughts before any can fully form. He’ll sound like a fanatic—like his father. The man thought that the supposed demon warrior roaming the north and attacking the Empire’s soldiers could’ve been Dimitri. Felix refused to let himself follow that path.

There was no point in him staying in Faerghus, in fighting alongside them while his father insisted on sending search parties out for any hint of a rumour he had heard.

“Dimitri is dead, and Faerghus has no king,” he says aloud, tone more bitter than he intends.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I know it must have been rough.” She turns to look at him, just briefly. “I’m glad you didn’t break the class’ promise, though.”

He snorts, crossing his arms. They’re close to the outskirts of the village now. He can see his horse, still grazing in a patch of the overgrown grass.

“I don’t break promises,” he says.

“That’s good to know,” Leonie says, pulling her horse to a stop. 

His horse stares at them curiously, and when he hops down and approaches, it readily walks to him. He grabs the reins, glancing over the ruined village once more. While he does, shadows fall over them. Leonie makes a sharp noise and Felix looks up, hand on the hilt of his blade.

Leonie’s shielding her eyes from the sun, looking at the wyverns and pegasi flying overhead. “Are those. . .?”

Felix makes a noise, seeing the flag billowing behind some of the fliers. “That’s the banner for the Church of Seiros.”

“The Knights are returning!” Leonie’s already turning her horse around, pulling the reins tight. “C’mon, we’ve got to get back to the others!”

.

‘When everyone’s settled,’ takes longer than they had first thought. Felix doesn’t mind. With Claude and the Knights of Seiros returning, he’s been left mostly alone. He cleaned out his old dorm, made certain that the others didn’t need him, then returned to where he had felt he had belonged the most during his time as a student in the monastery.

The monastery grounds, while lacking the usual training weapons, seems to not have been a big place of interest for thieves. The dummies still stand, but Felix chooses to ignore them in favour of going over his footwork. Ignatz tugs him away for dinner, where Claude updates them in the dining hall over a paltry meal of rations. The plan is ‘developing swimmingly,’ and Felix tells him stoutly that he doesn’t need to know details, just point his blade in the direction of the enemies and he’ll be fine. Claude takes it well, all things considered, and lets Felix go back to his training.

Which is why a day later, after the midday meal, the professor finds him at the training grounds.

Their gaze is amused when Felix whirls on them, blade pointed. “Well, I shouldn’t have expected anything less.”

“You shouldn’t have,” he agrees. “Spar with me. We’ll talk after.”

Byleth tilts their head, before agreeing.

Felix loses.

Afterwards, they sit together on the dirt ground. Despite agreeing to talk, they’re both silent for a while, catching their breaths. Felix goes over the spar in his head, trying to figure out if he could’ve changed one factor to end up winning. Byleth sits at his elbow, before they proffer the water skin they had brought. Felix avoids their stare as he takes it with a muttered _thanks_. It’s only after he’s taken a sip that Byleth speaks.

“Claude told me about Dimitri,” they say. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t need your pity over the boar,” he growls. “I got enough of it from Marianne and the others.”

“He was your friend, Felix,” they state, not unkindly. “You are in your right to mourn.”

“He was executed four years ago,” says Felix, glaring at the ground in front of him. “I’ve already processed my grief.”

“Mmn,” hums Byleth. 

“What?” snaps Felix.

“I cannot fathom how my returning could’ve made your grief begin anew.”

Felix huffs, jutting his chin up to look at them. “I’m not Seteth, Professor. I don’t think the world revolves around you.”

The words come out too-harsh, but Byleth just shakes their head, sighing in what Felix can see is amusement. They pat his shoulder gently. Felix feels like a student again. His teacher giving him extra attention since he’s being too _difficult_ once more. His hands itch to reach for his sword again, but he stills himself, just looking ahead at the rest of the empty training grounds.

“I know this will be a difficult time for all of us,” Byleth says, after a moment. “I would never force you to fight, especially when we could very well end up fighting against people you knew.”

“I can’t foresee us fighting anyone except the Dukedom,” he says. “Those people are all traitors.”

Byleth smiles, one of their small smiles. “I understand. What I am saying, Felix, is you don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to, but I am glad for your support.”

“Fighting for a kingdom with no king is pointless,” Felix states. “You know what I’ve already told Claude. My blade is better off being used here, where we actually stand a chance of defeating Edelgard.”

Byleth looks away, nodding. “Thank you, Felix.” 

After another moment, Felix rises, wiping the dust from his pants. “I need to go speak with Claude.”

Curiosity fills their normally blank eyes when they turn to him. They assess, before nodding. “He’s in the Cardinals' Room.” 

It's a fairly quick walk from the training grounds to the Cardinals’ Room. It’s made Felix uneasy being back at the monastery while it’s so empty, but Seteth was certain that as soon as word got out that they were back, others would flock back to the church.

Felix is certain that once word gets out that the Knights are back, Edelgard will be sending her own flock to take care of them.

The Cardinals' Room’s table is covered with maps, parchments of reports and supplies, and small wrappers from Claude apparently stress-eating sweets. Felix’s eyes sweep over the mess before they land on Claude, sitting at the head of the table, a quill stuck behind his ear and another in his hand. There are three separate inkwells on the table and Felix spots one so precariously placed that one wrong breath from Claude is going to send it toppling to the stone below.

Felix tells Claude what he knows about the Dukedom. They have more support than those still loyal to Faerghus, but they’re also spread thin. The remaining lords have mostly been working together, while Gautier territory has been dealing with more excursions from Sreng.

“At least, that’s what Sylvain said in his last letter,” Felix says. “That was nearly two moons ago, though. I could probably write to my father for more information.”

Claude agrees with no preamble or fuss. “Faerghus isn’t our enemy here,” he says. “I’m not asking you to give out our movements, nor am I asking you to demand those from your father. I just want to know how the Kingdom is holding up.”

Felix snorts. “Not well, but I’ll write to him. I’m sure he’ll be happy to keep me updated.”

Felix turns to leave, but Claude stops him with a hand on his wrist, gentle despite the way Felix bristles. When he’s certain Felix isn’t going to bolt, Claude releases him, fiddling with his quill.

“I just wanted you to know, I’m glad you came back. You’re a valued ally to us all, and your sword skills are second to only ol’ Teach.” He punctuates his last statement with a wink, before he grows somber. “I know it hasn’t been easy up there. Especially after what happened when Dimi—”

“It hasn’t been easy _anywhere_ , Claude,” snaps Felix, cutting him off before he gets the chance to give Felix more pity he doesn’t want, or _need_. “But that doesn’t matter. All that matters now is moving forward and putting a stop to this war.”

Claude’s eyes rake over him, sharp and careful. He waits just a moment before nodding. “You’re right.”

Felix quirks a brow, lips pressing into a line. “I normally am.”

.

Felix is right about a lot of things. He's right when he gets a message back from his father. He's right that Edelgard sends troops to try to quell their quickly growing army.

The battle to protect Garreg Mach is bloody, as they all are. The benefit is it secures their position, allows more people to flow back to the monastery. More people means they get more supplies. The only thing they truly start to lack is soldiers for their army.

Claude, luckily, has a scheme to secure them more fighters.

Judith Daphnel, a prominent member of the Alliance nobility—and also, Felix knows, to be one of Ingrid’s personal heroes, despite having never met the woman—has access to soldiers that could help boost their numbers. The only issue is that they can’t blatantly gather more fighters without risking an istigation from the Alliance nobles that have sided with Edelgard. Claude’s plan is for them to meet up in Ailell, the Valley of Torment. While Judith gathers her soldiers, Claude makes certain that the monastery is preparing. 

Felix, meanwhile, does what he’s asked and spends his free time training or tending to his weapons. On occasion, the professor will invite him to tea, to make certain he’s not close to a snapping point in his stress levels. They never state that’s the reason outright, but he can piece it together from seeing how they’ve had to all but bodily drag Claude away from his planning to relax in the gardens for even a tiny part of an afternoon.

A few days before they’re set to march, Claude finds him while he’s tending to his sword in the Knight’s Hall. He tilts his blade, checking its edge to deem if it's sharp enough, and Claude plops onto the couch beside him. Felix narrows his eyes, glaring at him from their corners, before he returns his gaze to his sword. The silence is broken by the whetstone running along the blade, but it’s not enough for him to be comfortable with Claude all but brushing elbows with him.

Felix makes a terse noise in his throat. “What do you want?”

“Have you heard from your father recently?”

The question is quick, no shame in his tone when Claude asks. It startles Felix, just slightly, and he almost loses his grip on the whetstone. His shoulders tense and he frowns, physically restraining himself from grinding his teeth. 

“I’ve heard nothing about the conflict as of late.” 

Claude hums. When Felix turns to him, he’s tapping his chin, looking to the hearth. Felix considers for a moment before he looks back to his sword.

“The silence. . .it’s unsettling.”

He hears Claude’s tiny, sharp inhale. “Right, of course it is. I’m sorry. The last that Shamir’s spies heard was more of an issue closer to Fhirdiad.”

Felix nods. “The last my father wrote was that Annette’s father was leading a small portion to scope out if the people of Fhirdiad were suffering at Cornelia’s hands.” He pauses. “It was useless, I’m certain. Fhirdiad’s citizens have been suffering since Dimitri’s execution.”

“Annette’s father,” Claude muses. “Gilbert, right?”

Felix nods. “I never liked him. He doesn’t deserve a daughter like Annette.”

“The rest of the loyal lords—did you hear anything about their movements?”

“No,” Felix states. He lifts his blade up to check its edge. “Even if I had, it wouldn’t matter. They’re not a cohesive army. It’s my father, the Margrave, and Lord Galatea trying to keep our lands and people safe.” He’s deemed his sword sufficiently sharpened and sheathes it before he continues. Claude is looking at him with his damnedable piercing stare. “What does it matter? They wouldn’t march to Ailell, anyway.”

“No, you’re right,” Claude says. “I just like to know what all the pieces are doing. Easier to plan that way.”

“This isn’t a game of chess, Claude,” says Felix. “You can’t predict the other side’s movements.”

“No,” agrees Claude. “But I can tell you what rumours I’ve heard.”

“I care nothing about rumours,” Felix states. He rises to his feet, tying his sword belt about his waist. “If you’ve only come to waste my time, I’ve more important things to do.”

“Ah, hey now, relax.” Claude spreads his hands, but Felix just rolls his eyes. The Leader of the Alliance telling Felix to relax is almost laughable. 

Almost.

“Anyway, I wanted to tell you, too, that Teach is looking for you. They want you to help with some rubble clean up before dinner.”

Felix sighs, pressing his thumb between his brows to try to preemptively stop his scowl from forming. It doesn’t work. “Where are they?”

“The pond,” Claude says. 

“Fishing, of course,” Felix mutters. “Fine. I’ll go see them.”

The professor informs him, from their perch at the dock, that there’s a pile of rubble near the stables that needs tending before they can begin restoration of the watchtower close by. They tell him Hilda should be making her way there and Felix resists the urge to sigh. It wasn’t the first time he had been paired up with Hilda. She was, undoubtedly, stronger than she let on. She would be a decent enough partner if she didn’t spend the entire time complaining.

Still, he goes without complaint. The sooner he arrived, the sooner the task could be over with. He’s surprised to see Hilda’s already at work when he reaches the stables, though the cart they’re to fill barely has more than a few handfuls of pebbles in it.

“Oh, _Felix!”_ Hilda’s voice is falsely sweet when she notices him, batting her eyelashes when Felix draws closer. “I was wondering when you were going to show up and help me! It is just so _difficult_ doing this all on my own.”

Felix lifts a brow, moving past her to begin grabbing at the broken pieces of stone and rocks. “I’m surprised you’re early.”

“Me?” She recoils just slightly, lips twisting. “ _Early?”_

The baffled tone in her voice makes Felix chuff a small laugh. “The professor just told me about the task. Thanks for the head start.”

He can feel her eyes on him and when he glances up, it’s to see her eyes narrowed and cheeks puffed out in a pout. “Stop being a tease, Felix, your jokes aren’t funny.”

“I wasn’t—.” He stops, shaking his head. “Never mind. Let’s just get this over with.”

They work in relative quiet, though Hilda breaks it with her complaints from time to time. He ignores her for the most part, knowing that as soon as they finish and report to the professor, he can get back to the training grounds.

Hilda gives a deep sigh after dropping a single rock the size of her palm into the cart. “Next time we have a fight like this, we should try to keep it away from the monastery!”

“Is that so?”

She turns to him, pink hair swishing over her back as she prances back to the rubble pile. “I hate having to clean up these kinds of messes! Clearing rubble isn’t anywhere close to my idea of fun.”

“I’m certain you’re not the only one with that opinion,” he states.

_“Felix!”_ He glances up at her sharp tone. “You can’t say that while looking that grumpy! I know you don’t want to do this, either!”

“Whether I want to or not doesn’t matter. Enough whining, Hilda. We’ll finish this faster if you just keep working.” He pauses, knowing immediately his tone was too sharp. He sighs, softly, adding, “I’m counting on you.”

Hilda giggles, the sound too grating to be close to her real laugh. “Aww, you’re growing soft on me, aren’t you?”

Felix frowns, narrowing his eyes. “I need to correct my prior statement. Enough talking, Hilda.”

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “But talking will make this go faster! I’ve heard some juicy gossip!”

“I’m not interested in gossip,” he states. 

“Oh, you’ll like this, though,” she drawls. “It’s about the Faerghus army.”

“There _is_ no army,” scoffs Felix. “There’s just bands of soldiers from the remaining lords that haven’t fallen to weakness and sided with the Empire.”  
Hilda tilts her head this way and that, humming in mock contemplation, as she carries a larger rock to the cart. Felix narrows his eyes at the display, knowing that if she wasn’t so concerned about _gossiping_ , she’d be whining about how she couldn’t possibly handle anything so heavy.

“That sounds like what an army is, y’know.”

Felix’s eyes flick in a roll as he carries one of the last rocks to the cart. “Whatever. I still don’t care about it. I left the north to come fight here, didn’t I?”

Hilda hums, inspecting her nails. “Well, this rumour pertains to you whether you want it to or not. There are rumours that _Dimitri_ is the one leading the army.”

His jaw tenses and he glares at the cart full of rubble in front of him. He takes in a deep breath, counting to himself, before he forces out an answer. He is glad that his voice is level, at least. “Dimitri is dead. The ones that still believe otherwise are the ones that can’t accept reality.”

Hilda peers at him, and Felix huffs. She thankfully stays quiet as they finish their task, walking with him as they bring the cart to the main gates, where one of the knights takes it from them. He figures that will be the end of it—they’ll report to the professor, and Hilda will run off to go slack in her training.

Instead, what happens, after the professor tells them they’ve done a perfect job, he finds Hilda following him through the monastery.

He whirls halfway to the training grounds to pin a glare on her. She’s still looking at him with her eyes aloof, too close to how Claude watches him to make him feel anything but discomfort. Felix crosses his arms. “What do you _want?”_

“I was just thinking about your reaction, earlier,” Hilda says, her voice gentle. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like.”

“What must have been like?”

Hilda’s expression grows sombre, her brows furrowing in concern. “It must have been difficult, losing your best friend.”

“The boar wasn’t my best friend,” he snaps. Then he sighs, shifting his weight. “That title, unfortunately, belongs to Sylvain.”

Hilda gives him a small laugh at that. Her next question is vastly different from her prior ones, and he’s thankful she’s done with her minor interrogation. “Have you written to Sylvain?”

“He wrote to me quite often before I left for the monastery,” he says. “I. . .answered some.”

Amusement glitters in her eyes. “’Some,’ huh?”

“Do you need something from me?”

Hilda laughs again, waving her hand. “No, no. It’s fine, I’ll leave you to grump with yourself.”

Felix watches her leave, hands folded delicately behind her back as she saunters down towards the dining hall. After a moment, when she’s far enough away, he whirls on his heel, marching to the training hall.

They’re headed to Ailell in less than a week. He needs to be prepared.

.

Despite the ambush they face at Ailell, they win and garner the extra support from House Daphnel’s soldiers. Judith is a fierce fighter—Felix understands why Ingrid was enamoured with her.

Any thoughts of Ingrid, or Sylvain, fill him with unease. He’s received no letters from his father and hasn’t sent more out. From what Claude and Shamir have informed him, the Kingdom now has a standing army, one that’s been attacking Empire strongholds throughout the Dukedom.

Before they head to take Myrddin, the professor, Claude, and even Seteth ask after him. Byleth and Seteth share their concerns about how Felix might feel, now that it’s certain the Kingdom has an army and is fighting beneath the Blaiddyd banner. Claude tries to give him an out, to leave their army and return home. Their concern isn’t unappreciated, but Felix doesn’t need it. He tells all three that he made his decision as soon as he saw Byleth back from the dead. He’s staying with them. 

This path that he’s chosen to follow is the right one. He knows that. It’s not his father’s; it’s not the boar’s. Even _if_ it is Dimitri who is leading the army, something he still is squashing down in his chest so he’s not disappointed when it turns out to not be him, he’s made his choice. He’ll follow this path to its end no matter what. He’s a soldier, a blade to be pointed out and let loose. 

He’ll cut through anyone that stands in his way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in case anyone was wondering, this mostly follows the verdant wind route (w the final battle being the same as in that route), with some very liberal takes from azure moon added in. the next chapter is going to be the battle at gronder field, tho, so we’ll finally see the rest of the blue lions! i'll be updating at least once a week, since I've got most of the second and third chapters drafted.
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616) if you want!


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix finds himself standing against too many familiar faces at Gronder Field. Marianne needs a pay raise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to be as delicate as I could w Felix’s view on Dimitri’s mental illness, but he doesn’t understand fully what’s happening and reacts as such, so I thought I’d warn everyone just in case anyone would rather dip out before reading through that!

At the end of the Great Tree Moon, the Alliance and Knights of Seiros meet Edelgard and her forces in a place they have faced her once before, years ago, as students. Felix hadn’t been a part of the Golden Deer class when they faced each other in the Battle of the Eagle and Lion, but that battle had been one of the turning points for him to ask the professor for a transfer.

He scoffs at Claude’s statement about it being a terrible class reunion. There was no point in reminiscing now. 

Felix had hoped that they wouldn’t be meeting the Kingdom army here. It had been a foolish hope. As soon as they had taken the Bridge of Myrddin, they had received intel that the Kingdom army was picking their way through the Alliance. They hadn’t been attacking any of their strongholds, just picking off the remnants of the Empire within Leicester’s territory. As soon as they had discovered the bridge over the Airmid was occupied by the Alliance, they had turned east.

Claude and Professor Byleth had come to the conclusion that all three forces would meet here. The fact that they had been right irritated Felix more than it should have. The forces fighting underneath the Blaiddyd banner are familiar enough. Felix knows exactly who’s fighting in the Kingdom army.

While not the best vantage point to view the entire field, the Alliance soldiers stand at a spot where Felix can see the Kingdom perfectly. The distance between them does nothing to dissuade him from piecing together who they’ll be facing. He can see Ingrid on a pegasus, soaring above the army. He spots a familiar shade of fiery red hair. Sylvain sits mounted on horseback and at his side—

_"No,_ " Felix breathes.

He wants to tell himself it's a trick of the light. It’s impossible. It should not be happening. But he recognizes that blond hair, even from the distance. Even though it’s longer than it had been the last time he had seen it, and the person is taller, broader. Even though he looks like a true beast in a heavy-looking, furred cloak. Felix shields his eyes from the sun, as if that’ll help clear his vision. He can’t see a face, but he _knows._

At his side, he hears Claude take in a sharp breath. “Dimitri _is_ alive,” he murmurs.

Felix’s eyes cut to him. Claude’s eyes are narrowed, jaw tensing. Felix can see his mind racing as he thinks up a plan. The professor’s half a mile away, their own units aiming to head straight towards Edelgard, their advice and tactics out of reach. The group Claude leads was _supposed_ to be the second part of a pincer. With Kingdom forces at their flank, it’d be impossible. 

Claude turns to Felix, his stare piercing. He dips his chin in a nod before turning back to the others.

"Alright, listen up! It doesn’t look like the Kingdom has any interest in joining forces with us, but they are not our enemy. We're going to avoid as many casualties with them as we possibly can,” he declares. “Edelgard and the Empire are our enemies, not them."

The soldiers’ response is a muted roar of agreement. Felix’s hand flexes at his side, his left going to the hilt of his sword to grip it. He drags his gaze back to Sylvain and Dimitri. It had barely been a year since Felix had last been in Gautier, assisting with a minor insurgence from Sreng. Sylvain had been nothing but smiles, only growing serious in the throes of battle. Felix can almost picture the frown on his face now, the twist of his lips as he surveys the field lying before them.

A horse snorts behind him, breath rustling against his coat’s hood. Felix glances over his shoulder to see Leonie’s determined gaze as she sits upon the saddle.

“Claude, I can go ahead once the fighting starts.” She leans forward to pat her horse’s neck. “My horse is the fastest, I can try to broker peace.”

“No,” Claude states. “It’s not worth the risk. I’m not sending anybody near them by themselves. Teach gave us our plan, and they know what they’re doing. Just try to avoid them, alright? No unnecessary fighting.”

Felix snorts. That earns him a side-eye from Claude.

“Ignatz, I want you to stay close to Felix.”

“O-oh, of course!”

_“Excuse me?”_ Felix speaks over Ignatz, whirling on Claude, scowl deepening.

Claude takes it in stride, his tone falling just on the other side of flippant. “It’ll be beneficial for the two of you to fight side-by-side,” he explains. “A long-ranged fighter beside you? It’s a perfect match.”

Felix’s glare deepens. Claude speaks with a nonchalant wave of his hand, as if he’s not assigning him a babysitter.

“I’m not going to run headfirst to them,” he growls.

“Of course not,” Claude says. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Especially with Ignatz. Have each other’s backs.”

This isn’t a fight Felix has time to pick. With one last look towards Dimitri, he forces his jaw to relax. Edelgard’s army is sounding their horns. Their own start bellowing across the field, signalling that they can start advancing. Felix’s hears the sharper sound of Faerghus’ own horns, familiar in a way that makes a shiver wind down his spine.

Felix turns to Ignatz, who doesn’t _deserve_ his glare, but doesn’t do more than wince when it’s pinned on him. “Stay close,” he orders.

Ignatz nods. “I will.”

The Empire army begins to move. Claude gives the signal for their own soldiers, and the battle begins.

The field itself turns to chaos quickly. Felix and Ignatz move swiftly through the woods, heading to the hilled fort where Bernadetta von Varley is busy picking off their soldiers from her vantage point. They’re not to get too close, according to Byleth. Felix’s plan had been to take down the soldiers lining the base to clear the path to the hill so someone could take down Bernadetta without her notice.

With Ignatz, though, they’re able to pick the hill clean—until the last of Edelgard’s forces send it up in flames.

Felix grits his teeth as they make their way through towards Edelgard and her vanguard. He can’t afford to try to keep his eyes on the Kingdom’s forces. All he can piece together as he moves, cutting down soldiers in red and black, is that the Kingdom isn’t doing too great. He catches snippets before ending lives. The Kingdom’s retreating, Dimitri’s on a death rampage.

He catches sight of the boar multiple times. His damned cloak is too bright, too attention-drawing to not be noticed. He fights like Felix remembers from the western rebellion they had fought in together what felt like an entire lifetime ago. Unyielding, powering through soldiers as if they were dry trees caught in a wildfire. He sees the glow of Dimitri’s Relic as he slices down soldier after soldier.

Felix is still watching when he hears the sound of retreat being sent through the field. Dimitri doesn’t seem to care that Edelgard’s army is fleeing. Felix can see him rushing ahead as if he alone can reach her and defeat the Emperor. He readjusts his grip on the sword in his grasp, jaw setting. Before he can take a step, he hears his name.

“Felix!”

Ignatz. Felix whirls over his shoulder, fixing him with a look. He’s got blood splatter on him, his bow still gripped tightly in hand, an arrow notched and ready if someone approaches.

Felix doesn’t have time for this. He growls an order of, “Go back to the others!”

“Why are you following him?” Ignatz asks, voice hitching. “He’s following Edelgard’s _retreat!”_

“I _know,_ ” Felix snarls. “That’s why I’m going after him!”

He doesn’t wait to hear more of Ignatz’s complaints. He doesn’t truly have an explanation as to why he feels he must follow Dimitri. He just knows he has to. An instinct honed into him from the day of his birth in the cold north of Faerghus. Everything in his body is screaming at him to go, to _follow_. Protect Dimitri. Save him from himself. 

His boots crunch against the ground as he rushes through the trees, passing felled soldiers wearing colours from both the Kingdom and Empire. He sees arrows and spears sticking from some bodies, others with distorted necks that tell him all he needs to know.

Felix catches up quickly—too quickly. It’s apparent why as soon as he sees the boar’s furred, blue cloak. It’s stained with red, arrows sticking out from his shoulders. There’s an entire platoon of soldiers standing between Dimitri and the quickly retreating battalion that’s protecting Edelgard.

Dimitri _roars_ , trying to surge forward. Felix watches as his steps falter and he’s moving before he can process. There’s definitely more soldiers than he could handle even if he wasn’t injured, and the boar’s movements are too erratic to even be called a help.

Felix manages to get through the first wave of soldiers, their blood smattering his clothes. It’s not healthy, how he does it, cutting them down as if they weren’t people, weren’t _breathing, living people_. All he can process is that they are prepared to kill Dimitri, and he cannot allow that.

His breathing sounds harsh to his own ears, the blood rushing through his veins causing his heart to pound. When he turns on his heels to get Dimitri and flee, what he finds makes him inexplicably angry. The boar’s on his knees, blue eye wide but unseeing. He’s coated in blood, red steadily trickling down his face and hands. Whether it’s his own, or it belongs to the soldiers he had sliced through to reach this point, is not something Felix can afford the time to discern. Areadbhar is on the ground at his side, loosely grasped between the boar’s fingers. Felix growls under his breath, sheathing his sword and rushing to him.

_“Boar_! Get up!”

Dimitri’s lips part, silently working. Felix tugs his arm up, ducking under it and hefting most of the boar’s weight onto him. He bears the both of them upwards onto their feet, watching as Dimitri’s fingers clasp around Areadbhar’s hilt as if by instinct alone as he’s jerked awkwardly up.

Felix’s eyes dart ahead. The rest of the battalion is coming, weapons at the ready. He turns to look over his shoulder. Behind them, the path is littered with nothing living, only the dead. There’s space for a retreat, but it won’t be possible if he can’t get Dimitri’s legs moving. He can’t cart him across the field by himself.

“ _Move_ ,” Felix orders, voice rough. “If you don’t, we’re going to die.”

Dimitri’s head lolls, knocking against Felix’s. His one eye looks to him, as if just now processing he was there.

“Felix. . .” His voice is low, guttural, but full of some sort of emotion Felix can’t place.

“We need to move,” Felix manages. “Now. Come on!”

“Why have you come. . .?” Dimitri asks, his voice, while still rough, taking on a gentle tone. “Why now. . .?”

“We don’t have time for this!” Felix can feel tears burning behind his eyes, a mixture of frustration and exhaustion. He’s lost Dimitri too many times to watch him die in front of him. “We need to go, Dimitri!”

Felix’s panicked shout has barely made it out of his mouth when a shadow falls over them. The familiar sound of wyvern wings beating overhead makes him crane his neck up. He sees the bright light of Failnaught’s arrows as Claude unleashes an array on the approaching soldiers. The ones that are left look even more bloodthirsty than the first, prepared to slice them down for revenge. Felix shifts his weight, struggling to stay upright with the bulk of Dimitri’s weight weighing him down. At his side, Dimitri’s gone quiet, and Felix refuses to look at him to see the extent of what his wounds have done.

“Ignatz and Hilda said you were making a poor life choice, Felix!” Claude calls down.

“Get Dimitri out of here!” he shouts. “I’ll cover your retreat!”

“On foot?” calls a second voice. Hilda’s falsely sweet tone falls above him as she brings her wyvern low to the ground, eyes narrowing at the soldiers. She holds her axe in hand, twirling it like it weighs nothing. “I don’t think that’s the best choice. Claude, be a dear and get these boys out of here for me? _Pretty please_?”

Claude grins at him as Hilda surges her wyvern forward. His own wyvern grabs Dimitri in its clawed paws while Claude extends a hand down from the saddle. Felix grabs Areadbhar from Dimitri’s loose grip before accepting the hand and being tugged up. His eyes follow Hilda as they fly back to the lines. Her bright hair is easy to see in the sea of blood and dried grass.

He wrenches his eyes away when she’s out of sight. “We need Marianne.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Claude states. He doesn’t sound angry, but he doesn’t sound thrilled. “Next time you pull something like that, I want you to bring someone with you. I left you with Ignatz for a _reason_. We can’t afford to lose you, Felix.”

“Faerghus can’t afford to lose Dimitri.”

“Is it Faerghus that can’t, or is it you?”

His lips tighten into a line at the question. Claude doesn’t press.

The retreat to the Alliance’s lines is fast. The others are already all there. The professor’s eyes are wide when they land, assessing while Marianne rushes forward, her hands already glowing. Felix watches as she pulls the arrows from armour and skin with one hand, her other fingers radiating light as they pass over the wounds.

“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Marianne says, voice hitched slightly. “I can’t tend to him fully here.”

Emotions rush through Felix at that statement. Anger, frustration, premeditated grief. He refuses to let the tears that threaten to burn his eyes fall. His thoughts are rushing through, too many to focus on. He wants to know how Sylvain and the others fared, if they’re dead, but all his thoughts keep going back to Dimitri. Always Dimitri.

“We need to get back to the monastery, then,” he states, voice clipped.

Claude nods. “I thought you actively avoid flying?”

“Marianne will need the protection,” he states.

Hilda chooses that time to return, her wyvern’s snout having new blood on it. Hilda herself has cuts and scrapes as she hops down from the saddle, eyes still blazing as they roam over those that are gathered.

“Take my wyvern!” she calls. “She’s much faster than Claude’s.”

The professor agrees that the three of them falling back first is best. “Go swiftly. Watch each other’s backs.”

“We will,” Felix states, watching as Hilda’s wyvern sniffs at Dimitri from where he’s laying prone.

He helps Marianne up into the saddle from the ground, eyes still mostly on Dimitri’s chest. He can see the rise and fall of his chest through the armour, but it’s slower than it should be. Long, unsteady breaths punctuated by hiccuped interruptions. It’ll take them hours to get back to the monastery on wyvernback, but he knows he needs to trust Marianne has him stable enough for that.

Claude’s hand catches his elbow before he can climb into the saddle. “He’ll be ready to fight as soon as he wakes,” he says. “You and I both saw him out there. Be careful.”

“I can handle him,” says Felix.

The flight is nerve wracking. Felix isn’t afraid of heights, but he has never been fully comfortable in a saddle. His stress levels peak at the thought of Hilda’s wyvern dropping Dimitri to the ground speeding by underneath them. Felix knows for a fact that if it weren’t for Marianne, he’d be stopping the wyvern every fifteen minutes to check on Dimitri. She is the epitome of calm and collected, flying them as quickly as they can push the wyvern without putting themselves in more danger.

Since he’s not in charge, he settles for quietly panicking behind Marianne until the monastery is in sight. They land at the main gates where some of the knights take over caring for Hilda’s wyvern. Between himself and Marianne, hefting Dimitri isn’t the easiest, but it’s doable. They bring him to Felix’s room, where it’ll be easier for him to control Dimitri once he wakes.

For he has to believe Dimitri _will_ wake.

While Marianne tends to Dimitri, she sends Felix to the infirmary to be tended to by the nuns that are still there. He doesn’t want to leave Dimitri’s side, telling her it wouldn’t be safe, but she assures him she’ll be fine until Felix’s small wounds are treated.

He goes, but unhappily.

The nun that treats him is gentle. She doesn’t ask any other questions that aren’t pertaining to his injuries. Felix ignores half of the remaining advice she gives. He wasn’t injured as much as some of the others. He’s been through worse and tells the nun that, who just shrinks away when his glare returns in force.

By the time he’s bandaged and back in his room, Marianne is finished. Most of Dimitri’s upper body is covered in wrappings. She’s done a perfunctory job washing him up as well. His hair is no longer stained red with blood.

Felix’s eyes roam over him. The way Dimitri had filled out in the past five years had turned him from a gangly, slightly awkward prince to a force to be reckoned with. His eyes linger on the bandages about his chest. Marianne follows his gaze, making a soft noise, and Felix feels his face alight with heat as he wrenches his eyes away.  
“His body needs time to recover,” she tells him in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “I’m unsure how long it’ll take for him to wake, but he’ll definitely be disoriented when he does wake.”

Felix nods. “Thank you. You need to rest, too.”

She gives him a tiny smile. “I will.”

As soon as she’s shut the door behind her, Felix turns his desk chair around to face the bed. In the far corner of his room, Areadbhar is propped up. It glows dimly, twitching on occasion, and Felix scowls at it as he grabs his own weaponry. The boar will wake when he wakes. Felix will need to be prepared for it.

**.**

Two days after he and Marianne returned to the monastery, Dimitri wakes. Felix has finished the breakfast he’s been brought by Marianne, who had noticed on the first day he wasn’t taking his meals, too preoccupied with hovering in his room to go out to the dining hall. It felt too dangerous to leave Dimitri on his own, even if he was unconscious.

Sunlight streams in through the window, painting the room in the gentle glow of the morning light. He’s hardly slept, but that doesn’t matter. Felix keeps himself busy while he waits, picking through the food Marianne’s brought and finishing it so she doesn’t think he’s unappreciative. 

He has just set his tray on the desk when he hears movement, the dull sound of blankets being shuffled. Felix turns, wary, assessing. One moment, he watches as Dimitri’s nose scrunches, his hands flexing in the blankets. Then his eye opens. The next thing Felix knows, he’s being pinned against the door to his dorm, a hand around his throat and the boar snarling in his face. The hand at his throat isn’t putting down pressure—Dimitri is assessing what kind of threat he is and if he _needs_ to be put down. Felix immediately grabs his wrist, fingernails digging in tight against his skin.

“Put me down,” Felix grounds out. “If you’ve torn your stitches, Marianne will be very upset with you.”

Dimitri’s eye is wild, roving over Felix’s face. Felix keeps his breathing steady, the hand he doesn’t have on Dimitri’s wrist moving to his chest, where Felix can feel the stitches under the bandages.

_“Boar_.”

Dimitri’s brows furrow, recognition filling his gaze as his eye narrows. “. . .Felix?”

“Who else would it be?” he quips. “Let me go. Your stitches have been pulled. I need to go get Marianne.”

“Marianne. . .?” Dimitri releases him, stepping back out of Felix’s space. He turns, looking around the room. When he speaks, his voice is low, guttural. “Where are we?”

“Garreg Mach,” Felix states. “Sit down.”

“Garreg—?” Dimitri cuts himself off, shaking his head. “You’ve pulled me further from my goal.”

“Goal?” Felix snorts. “You were on a suicide mission at Gronder, trying to reach Edelgard while she was retreating.”

“I will have her head.” The growl that comes out of Dimitri’s throat makes ice drip down Felix’s spine.

“Maybe so,” he says. “But you can’t do that while injured.” Felix steps into his space, lifting a hand. With a gentle push, one that would have never been able to unsteady someone of his height and build if he wasn’t recovering from wounds as bad as he had sustained, Dimitri falls back onto the bed. His breath puffs out in a half-snarl, lips twisting, but Felix speaks before Dimitri can curse at him. “You’re injured. You’ve been out for nearly two days. Even _if_ you could reach Edelgard like this, you would die.”

“I will have her head,” Dimitri repeats. Felix can see the blood starting to seep through the bandage at his side. “I must. The dead cannot rest until she’s gone.” He turns his chin to the side, eye darting beside him. He murmurs, just softly, as if he’s not speaking to Felix at all. “No, of course not. I will not forget.”

Felix frowns. He looks to the space Dimitri’s staring at, where the only sight is dustmotes floating in the rays of sun shining from the window. “I have no idea what nonsense you’re spouting,” he says, brows furrowing. “I’m going to get Marianne. Stay here.”

He doesn’t expect Dimitri to listen, at first, but the boar’s gaze has gone distant. His hands reach up to his ears as he sits slumped at the bed edge, his head shaking slightly. Felix pieces it together as soon as he’s opened the door. His ears catch Dimitri’s mutterings.

He’s apologising to his father, under his breath.

Felix’s hand hesitates on the doorknob, but he pulls the door shut and exhales, slowly.

Marianne’s room is at the end of the hall. It doesn’t take him long to reach her door. He knocks and she answers. He’s thankful she hasn’t gone out yet. She tilts her head when he opens his mouth and no words come out. After a half-second of silence, he looks away to clear his throat.

“He’s awake,” he says, voice tight.

“Did he hurt you?” she asks.

“He’s torn the stitches on his side. I think—.” He makes a noise, turning away from her stare. “He’s sitting there apologizing to his father.”

Marianne frowns. “His father?”

“As if he’s in the room. I think he’s convinced himself he can see his ghost.”

Marianne’s brows furrow, but she follows him as he heads back down the hall.

Felix stands corrected when they return to the room. It’s elevated from just Dimitri’s father he mutters about, to calling Marianne his mother, and Felix gets called _Glenn_ , which makes his blood run cold. Marianne kneels in front of Dimitri, who’s still sitting on the edge of the bed. Her hands work quickly as Dimitri murmurs to people that only he can see.

“Blood loss,” Marianne reminds Felix, not unkindly. Dimitri doesn’t even look at her. “He’s confused.”

Felix knows it’s more than that. The beast has lost his mind.

He has little options in how to know to what _extent_. Dimitri had been lucid before, they had talked to one another. He almost wishes he could send a messenger to Sylvain and ask him what the fuck had happened.

He stands by the door, watching. Dimitri doesn’t seem coherent enough to hurt Marianne, but he needs to be on guard, just in case. As he watches, he almost wants to believe Marianne’s right. Dimitri’s confused. He was severely injured and woke up leagues away from the army he had been fighting beside.

Marianne easily guides Dimitri back onto the bed. His mutterings have stopped at this point, though his eye still seems unseeing.

“You need rest, Dimitri,” she tells him. “Your injuries are going to take time to heal. I’m going to go get you some food from the dining hall. You and Felix can talk more while I’m gone.”

It’s the most he’s heard Marianne willingly say in one go, and it tells him she’s more concerned than she’s trying to let on. Her hands wring in front of her when she turns to Felix.

“It’ll be alright,” she tells him, though she doesn’t sound very convincing. “Claude and the others will be back in a few more days. It’ll be fine.”

Felix just steps aside to hold the door for her. When she’s gone, he goes back to Dimitri’s side. His eye is closed, but he’s not foolish enough to think he’s asleep yet. He reaches out, stopping short of touching his face. His fingers curl into a loose fist before they tighten and he snaps his gaze away. He sits back down in the chair. He feels antsy. It’s been too long since he’s been at the training grounds. All of his time has been dedicated to Dimitri.

His eyes glance over again. Dimitri’s face is relaxed. His hand lifts again, this time reaching out and gently pushing his hair from his eyes. The one that he had covered with an eyepatch at Gronder is gone, leaving behind a puckered spot of tissue where it's healed into a painful looking scar. Felix does not want to know how it happened. Marianne says it looked like it had been tended to by inexperienced hands. He doesn’t like the thought of Dimitri trying to hastily repair his own eye.

His hand is still on Dimitri’s forehead and he startles when he moves. He tries to draw back, but Dimitri’s hand is quicker—it snakes out from underneath the blankets and grabs his wrist. When Felix looks down, still unsettled by the movement, Dimitri’s one eye is looking at him. Felix feels like he’s being stared _through_ , Dimitri’s gaze hazy and unfocused.

Felix’s lips twist. “Who do you see now, boar? It’s just us here.”

Dimitri blinks, slowly, eye finally focusing. Felix tries his hardest to hold that stare. The sensation grows unbearable far too quickly, but he forces himself to hold it.

“Well?” he demands.

“Felix,” he breathes out, slow and careful. “You’ve finally come back.”

Felix’s lips part, ready to demand just what he means by that, but Dimitri’s hand slips from his wrist. Felix’s eyes move at the sudden loss, watching his arm fall back to the bed. By the time he looks back, Dimitri’s eye is closed again, his breathing evening out. 

He has to physically resist the urge to gnash his teeth, rising to his feet instead. He paces from one end of the room to the other. He needs to go train. He’s going to lose it and lash out at someone undeserving of it—most likely Marianne, due to her proximity—if he’s not able to go work out this tension. 

He forces himself to breathe deeply. In, count to ten, exhale while counting once more. Every lap he makes around the room he slowly calms himself with his breathing. Marianne returns with a small tray of food. 

“He does need to eat,” she says. 

Felix nods. “I’ll wake him. Go on, you deserve some rest.”

“Are you certain?”

“I can handle him. He shouldn’t. . .He shouldn’t lash out like last time.”

She nods. “Alright. I’m right down the hall if you need me.”

“Thank you, Marianne.”

Her face relaxes, an almost-smile curling her lips. “I should be thanking you, Felix, for watching over him.”

“He’s my responsibility,” says Felix, without thought. “I’ll handle him.”

He brings the tray to his desk, taking in a deep breath. He counts to ten, exhaling slowly after. Dimitri _is_ his responsibility. Felix had gone after him, dragged him from the burning field of Gronder to the monastery. Doing that wasn’t something that he had thought through, it was instinctual. None of the others should have had to deal with him. It was already a burden he was throwing on Marianne’s shoulders, and he has no doubts Claude and the professor are trying to figure out the best way to deal with Felix all but kidnapping the Crown Prince of Faerghus while they make their way back. 

Another deep breath. Felix pushes those thoughts from his head. He turns back to the bed. He’ll handle whatever Dimitri throws at him when he’s woken, be it anger or his muttering. Whatever happens, he’s determined to make certain he doesn’t die because Felix refused to force him to take care of himself. 

He’s made his choice. He made it the moment he rushed across a bloody and wartorn field. He won’t back down from it, not now. Not when it came to Dimitri.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok next chapter is gonna have more than just Felix and Marianne interacting w Dimitri, I promise
> 
> i'm also on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616)!


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude and the professor return from Gronder. Dimitri lurks in the cathedral while his wounds heal. Felix sends a letter.

By the time Claude and the professor return with the rest of their army, Felix is growing steadily sick of watching over Dimitri. He’s agreed, reluctantly, that there is no possible way for him to get to Enbarr from the monastery in his current situation. Felix tells him if he calms down and _thinks_ , Claude might be able to think of a plan that’ll benefit them all.

Dimitri doesn’t like the idea of following one of _’Claude’s schemes_ ,’ but he states he’ll comply for the time being. Which means Felix watches him pace the cathedral, muttering to voices only he can hear, more often than not. When Dimitri is lucid enough to not growl and spit curses at him, they have what could almost be called conversations. The first one happens at sunset a few days after Dimitri woke up. It was one of his first times he had managed to drag himself out of Felix’s room, dressed in spare clothes with that damnable cloak over his shoulders.

They’re the only ones in the cathedral due to the hour. Everyone else is at the dining hall for dinner. Dimitri is kneeling in front of the rubble in the centre of the church. Felix has been watching him from further back, near one of the columns, but he approaches when the sun filters in and turns the stone floor shades of reds and purples.

Dimitri doesn’t startle at his approaching footsteps. He doesn’t look up when Felix reaches him, but Felix stays on his left side so he’s in his peripheral. He keeps his arms crossed over his chest, trying to think of the best way to bring up that the boar should eat.

It’s Dimitri who breaks the silence. His voice rumbles out of him, nearly unrecognisable from the princely tone he had years before.

“Rodrigue said you often wrote to him.”

Felix’s back stiffens, shoulders tensing. He closes his eyes in a long blink, taking in a deep breath. When he exhales, he turns to Dimitri. “Most people do communicate with their family. I’m not the only one here who has gotten messages from their parents.”

Dimitri makes a noise, akin to a scoff. “It is funny how you choose to view him as such, when you turned your back on Faerghus.”

“ _I_ abandoned Faerghus?” Felix questions. “I came back to the monastery because of a promise I made five years ago. I stayed because Claude seems to be the only one who has a clear way to end this damned war.”

“This war ends with Edelgard’s head on a pike.”

A strangled noise escapes him before he can swallow it down. “Your army is a lost cause. This is all you care about!”

Dimitri shakes his head. “I need her head to silence their pleas.”

_“Whose pleas?_ The only ones here are _us_.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Dimitri says, his voice low and almost beseeching.

Felix works his jaw, looking away. He forces himself to inhale. “Claude and the others will be back soon,” he states, voice forced calm. “If I write to my father once Claude returns, you know your army will come here. We could face Edelgard together.”

Dimitri doesn’t answer him. Felix’s breathing technique does nothing to calm him.

He leaves Dimitri at the pile of rubble. Felix knows once he comes back, Dimitri will still be there. Marianne, he hopes, will bring him some food before she says her final prayer for the night and retires.

It’s with that thought in mind that he makes his way to the training grounds.

When the others do return, a few days later, Claude and the professor are both surprised Dimitri is still _here_. Felix tells them both it hasn’t been easy convincing him against stealing a horse and racing off to his inevitable death at Enbarr.

“I think it might be best if we try to combine our army with the Kingdom forces,” states Felix. “If I write to my father and tell him Dimitri’s here, they’ll undoubtedly come.”

Claude agrees that it’s a good strategy. “Will Dimitri agree to it, though?”

“I doubt it. All he’s done since he’s been able to get out of bed is lurk in the cathedral, muttering to himself.”

“Muttering to himself?” Byleth asks. “About what?”

Felix shakes his head. “He’s hearing voices. Marianne concluded it was from the bloodloss he faced at Gronder, but in his small bits where he knows I’m not my _brother_ , he’s told me he’s been hearing them for years.”

Claude nods, rubbing at his jaw. “That could be. . .problematic. What do they say?”

“I have no idea,” Felix states, narrowing his eyes. “He thinks the only way to silence them, though, is by killing Edelgard.”

“Alright, well!” Claude claps his hands together. “Is His Princliness in the cathedral now? I think it’s time I said hello and told him his apology for almost knocking me off my wyvern at Gronder is accepted.”

Felix snorts. “He’ll knock you down before he apologises for that. But yes, he is. I’ll show you.”

Claude waits for Byleth, but the professor shakes their head. Seteth has plenty of ration reports that need to be gone over now that the entire army is back at the monastery. They tell the two of them that it’s their duty as the head of the church to handle the paperwork.

“Tell me how it goes with Dimitri,” they say.

“Probably poorly,” says Felix.

“Optimism is key here, Felix,” they state, but wave them on their way. 

It goes just about as well as Felix thought it would. Claude’s proposal is concise and makes sense. Both the Leicester Alliance and Faerghus need each other’s backs. If Dimitri agrees, they’ll march to free Fhirdiad from Cornelia, then make their way to Enbarr to fight Edelgard, putting an end to the war.

Dimitri is resistant to any thought that isn’t _go to Enbarr and hang Edelgard’s heads from the gates._

Felix growls deep in his throat fifteen minutes into the conversation, where Claude is trying to convince him to see reason.

“Forget this. I’m sending a messenger to my father. We’ll get an answer from the actual army, not this beast.”

Claude frowns, looking between them. He follows when Felix storms out of the cathedral.

“Felix—”

“We won’t win the war just with him,” says Felix. His boots echo across the bridge as he stomps across it, Claude a half step behind him. “He’s lost his mind. I’ll write to my father. We’ll get an answer in less than a week and a half if I pay a decent messenger.”

“Alright, well, writing it angry won’t do us any favours.” Claude stops him before he can head out the doors towards the training grounds, side stepping to block his path. Felix glares, but it's ignored, and Claude simply gestures to the staircase leading to the offices on the second floor. “C’mon, up to the Cardinals’ Room we go. I’ll help you draft it.”

“What’s there to draft? I’ll tell him the boar is here and the rest of the Kingdom should fight with us.”

Claude stares at him, still blocking his path. Felix huffs a breath and resists crossing his arms by flexing his hands at his sides.

“What?” he demands.

Claude’s head tilts. “That’s really all you were going to write, isn’t it?”

“No.”

“Signing your name does _not_ contribute to the word count, Felix.”

Felix crosses his arms, ignoring the heat climbing his cheeks. “Succinct messages are better. Fewer words with less information for a spy to get a hold of.”

“Right. This information doesn’t matter too much, though. C’mon. Upstairs. I’ll tell you what to write and you can just sign your name, okay?”

Felix narrows his eyes, but he turns, heading up the stairs. “Then my father will throw it in a fire thinking I’ve been kidnapped.”

Claude snorts a laugh. “Alright, that’s fair. I’ll tell you what I _think_ you should write and you go from there.”

“What a waste of time,” Felix sighs.

Claude pats him on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine.”

**.**

Exactly nine days after they send a messenger out towards where the Kingdom army’s camp was last seen north of the Oghma Mountains, they receive an answer. Felix is training with Raphael when Lysithea rushes through the doors.

“Felix!” Her face is red and she’s out of breath from running. “The professor wants you at the main gate! _Now!”_

“What’s going on?”

“The Kingdom’s sent their answer.”

Felix leaves Raphael and Lysithea behind, walking with purposeful steps. He refuses to run. If it was something bad, Lysithea would have said so. His steps are still quicker than his usual pace and they come to a halt when he reaches the top of the stairs of the reception hall.

Standing at the main doors, looking like he had gone through the Eternal Flames and back just to get there, stands Sylvain.

Felix _stares_. Sylvain’s laughing, clapping the professor on their shoulder as if it was the most casual thing in the world. He’s not dressed in heavy plate armour, just standard riding clothes, as if he had rushed to get to the monastery as quickly as he could. His hair’s a mess, his bag at his feet, but he’s smiling and chatting like the last time they saw him, they weren’t on the opposite sides of battle at Gronder Field.

“Sylvain.”

His voice doesn’t carry, but Sylvain seems to hear it anyway—or he feels Felix’s eyes. His own grow wide and the smile he’s given is so full of relief that it makes Felix’s own chest relax. He hadn’t heard anything about any members of the Kingdom army and while he had been certain Sylvain wouldn’t have broken their promise, he had been concerned.

“Fe!”

Felix quickly descends the stairs and lets Sylvain hug him, squeezing the air out of his lungs and lifting him off his feet. Felix doesn’t protest it. He can feel the relief rolling off of Sylvain. When his feet are back on the ground and Sylvain lets him go, Felix lets out a long breath.

“I was concerned you broke our promise,” he says.

“ _Me?_ ” Sylvain questions, bafflement in his tone. “Felix, we saw you, I thought you were dead!”

He fixes him with a look. “‘Saw’ me?”

“Dedue and I were heading back to collect Dimitri after he decided following Edelgard was the best way to defeat her. Back at Gronder, I mean.” Sylvain gestures as he talks, and Felix will never admit how the familiarity of it makes the tension slip from his shoulders. “I saw you go after him, but by the time we were able to reach where you guys had been, no one was there.”

“Hilda covered our retreat while I collected them,” Claude explains. “We weren’t going to risk losing one of our best swordsmen.”

“I didn’t see Dedue at Gronder,” says Felix, frowning. “I hadn’t realised he was there.”

“Oh, we’re lucky he didn’t follow me here.” Sylvain shakes his head, pushing a hand through his hair. “The only reason why I was able to convince him to stay with the others after we got your message is because they’ve made me the army strategist and I told him I was the best one to go.”

“They sent their strategist here?” asks the professor.

Sylvain shrugs. “I’m the best to piece together just what you could possibly want with our wayward prince.”

“Oh, I think you already know,” says Claude, his smile not reaching his eyes. “We can talk it over upstairs, though.”

“Lead the way,” Sylvain says, gesturing.

Profesor Byleth frowns. “You should rest first, Sylvain.”

“Oh, no need, Professor, I’m fine. Best to gather just what the hell your plan is first and then find His Highness.” He winks at Felix, dragging a hand up to poke Felix’s cheek. “And after that, I have plenty of questions for _you_.”

Felix rolls his eyes, smacking his hand away, but Sylvain slings his arm over his shoulder instead, tugging him close. Byleth looks between them, amused. They bend to collect Sylvain’s bag.

“I’ll have them clean out your old dorm room, so you can have somewhere to rest. That’s alright?”

“That’s _very_ alright, Professor, thank you.”

“It should be ready before dinner.”

Sylvain winks again, thanking them again while his arm stays around Felix’s shoulders. Claude’s eyes watch them carefully before he tilts his head in the direction they need to head. As they follow behind Claude, headed towards the Cardinals’ Room, Sylvain’s eyes roam around. Felix can tell by the set of his jaw and the sharpness in his eyes, he’s assessing the people they pass.

“You’re more likely to find a cross ex-lover here than someone planning to off you because you’re from Faerghus.”

Sylvain tilts his head, smiling. “Caught me, huh?”

“I’d be on edge, too,” Felix says.

“How—ah.” His eyes narrow at Claude’s back and he presses closer to Felix, bending his head so he can whisper. “How’s His Highness been?”

“Pacing the cathedral, lurking in shadows,” states Felix, without a care to Claude overhearing. “When he isn’t calling me _Glenn_ —,” Sylvain winces at that, “—he’s arguing about how best to sever Edelgard’s head from her body.”

Sylvain takes in a deep breath. Felix counts silently with him while they climb the stairs to the offices. As soon as he finishes exhaling, Sylvain squeezes Felix once more before letting him go.

“Well. At least it’s good to see he’s not worse.”

Felix frowns, but doesn’t ask. Claude, thankfully, doesn’t say anything either, though he’s certain the information’s been filed away. The council table is how it’s been since they first made Garreg Mach their army's base. Papers scattered about the tabletop, the ink stain in the stone from one of Claude’s multiple inkwells falling and shattering. Felix watches Sylvain’s lips tighten at the sight of the mess, but he doesn’t speak his issues with it as they settle at the end of the table. Felix sits across from Sylvain, crossing his arms, prepared for this to either go well, or poorly. Sylvain had an eye for tactics and he wasn’t the boar, not single-minded in his ways, but if he had to think for an entire army instead of just himself, it might be difficult to convince him their plan was smart.

“Felix’s letter wasn’t that detailed,” Sylvain says, leaning his elbows on the armrests of his chair. “So, lay this plan on me.”

“The plan is as follows,” Claude says, resting his arms on the table, “in a few weeks, we march north and meet with the rest of your army.”

“North?” Sylvain lifts an eyebrow, looking to Felix for confirmation before they flick back to Claude. “Not west?”

“Not west,” answers Claude.

“North, to Fhirdiad,” Felix states.

Sylvain’s eyes go to him, sharp and surprised. “Fhirdiad?”

“Freeing Fhirdiad is the easiest way to solidify our armies’ support of one another.” Claude tilts his head, resting it against his fist. “Besides, Edelgard is pumping Merceus full of soldiers expecting us to head there next.”

“Freeing Fhirdiad with our combined forces will make Edelgard rethink our strategy,” says Felix.

“Freeing Fhirdiad will get Dimitri on the throne,” Sylvain states, eyes going to the table in front of him, his brows furrowing in thought.

“You truly want that beast on the throne?” asks Felix.

Sylvain tilts his head, looking back up. “Dimitri is the prince, Felix. It’s his birthright.”

“He’s right,” says Claude. “Dimitri is the one that has to rule.”

“He’s not fit for it,” Felix protests. “You’ve seen him. When we march on Enbarr, he’s going to get himself killed.”

“He won’t,” Claude states. “You won’t let that happen.”

Felix turns his gaze to pin Claude with a glare. He can see Sylvain glancing between them, questions forming in his head. He doesn’t voice any, thankfully. All he does is clear his throat.

“So, free Fhirdiad?” says Sylvain.

“Right. And with Fhirdiad freed, Edelgard will be scrambling to know our newest plan. The seeds we’ll drop will also help,” Claude says.

Sylvain nods, setting his feet down. “Free Fhirdiad, the most logical next step would be Arianrhod.”

Claude’s smile is nothing more than a self-pleased smirk. “Exactly.”

Sylvain huffs, leaning his elbows onto the table, shifting to set an inkwell further away. “The assumption would be to free the entire Kingdom from Dukedom forces. Gaining the full support of all of Faerghus, plus the Leicester Alliance, and the Church of Seiros is something that would be a very, _very_ smart move on our parts.”

“Which is the move we’ll say we’re headed to,” says Claude. “We’ll turn our sights on Fort Merceus, though.”

“The Stubborn Old General,” Sylvain sighs. “You’ve got a plan to take it?”

“Well, since we’ve got the support of the Kingdom on our side, we don’t need to go with my original plan.”

Sylvain quirks an eyebrow, glancing to Felix, who rolls his eyes and looks away. Sylvain snorts.

“Alright, well, I’ve gotta know what it was to get Felix to make _that_ face.”

“He wanted our soldiers to dress up in Imperial uniforms,” states Felix.

There’s silence. Felix glances up to see Sylvain just staring at Claude, who’s smiling.

“You wanted your soldiers to _what_?” Sylvain finally asks.

“Hey, it’s war,” Claude says, spreading his hands. “It would’ve worked.”

Sylvain leans back, looking more amused than truly concerned. “Oh, it would’ve?”

Claude grins. “I’m not called the Master Tactician amongst Edelgard’s soldiers for no reason, you know.”

“Colourful nickname,” Felix quips. “You would do anything to win.”

Claude winks. Before anyone can say anything else, the door opens. Felix glances over as Judith Daphnel walks in. The last he had heard, she had been sent to the Roundtable to deal with the Alliance’s still squabbling nobles.

“Missive for you, Leader Boy,” she declares, barely giving Sylvain a cursory glance before bringing the scroll to Claude.

“Stop calling me boy, Judith,” Claude says, no heat behind his words. He breaks the seal, eyes flicking over whatever's written. Whatever’s been sent must be good, for Felix can see his shoulders relax. “Anyway,” he says, glancing between Sylvain and Felix. “I’m sure you two have a lot to catch up on—and you probably want to see Dimitri, Sylvain, so. . .”

Felix rolls his eyes, pushing his chair away from the table. “We’re being dismissed, Sylvain.”

“Oh, that’s a nicer way than I’m normally kicked out,” says Sylvain, grinning. “C’mon, show me around, Fe.”

“You went to school here, same as I did,” Felix states, but he can’t find himself to be too angry. He _is_ glad to see Sylvain, though he doubts he’d ever admit that aloud. He thinks Sylvain might know—his arm is slung around Felix’s shoulders as soon as they’re on the first floor, and Felix doesn’t throw him off.

“Before we see Dimitri, can we talk?”

Felix pauses, glancing to him. “We can talk while we spar.”  
“ _Felix_ ,” Sylvain whines. “I rode six hours today to get here after sleeping on the _ground_ last night. My only pillow was my mare’s spare blanket. We can spar tomorrow or something.”

“Mm.” Felix’s eyes narrow. “Fine. Let’s go to my room.”

Sylvain waggles his eyebrows and Felix shrugs him off. He takes it in stride, bringing his hands to the back of his head as they walk, eyes taking in the monastery and its repairs. They cross through the old Academy classrooms, heading towards the dorms. They’re mostly quiet; Felix lets Sylvain take in how the monastery is coming along, while his own thoughts are continuously drifting back to Dimitri and how he must be faring on his own in the cathedral.

Sylvain’s voice tugs him out of his thoughts. “It looks a lot better than I thought it would.” 

Felix nods, idly, as they pass by the greenhouse, heading up the stairs to the second floor of the dorm. “We’ve been working on it for over four moons now.”

“I can tell.” Sylvain tilts his head, his eyes going by the doors they pass. “So, are most of our former classmates here?”

“The Golden Deer are, yeah,” Felix says.

Sylvain nods. “We’ve got all of the Blue Lions on our side. Well, except for you, but you did switch classes.”

“Mmhm.”

“Y’know, I had to go to Count Rowe’s a few moons back, right before we heard word about that ordeal in Ailell.”

“What?” Felix pins him a look. “I thought the Gray Lion hated you.”

“Oh, he did. Ashe was working with him, though, because of how close Gaspard was to Rowe. I tried not to deal with Rowe at all. I just needed to drag Ashe to our side.”

Felix nods again, slowly exhaling. “I’m glad you did, at least. If Ashe had been there when Rowe ambushed us. . .”

“You probably would’ve cut him down, anyway,” Sylvain says once Felix’s trailed off. “Anyone would in this state of the world.”

“Doesn’t mean I’d enjoy it,” says Felix.

They’ve reached his door and he opens it. Since he had woken, Dimitri had taken to a nest of spare blankets in the midst of the cathedral’s rubble, despite the fact that he and Leonie had cleaned out Dimitri’s old room. Sylvain walks in like he did when they were students, striding past him to drop onto his bed as if he owns the place.

“Ah, just like old times.” Sylvain’s voice is muffled into Felix’s pillow and Felix reaches out to shove at his shoulder.

“You’re disgusting, you’ve been on horseback all day.”

“Sorry,” Sylvain says, not sounding sorry at all. He sits up and dutifully slips to sitting on the ground, legs crossed. Felix can feel his eyes as he goes and gets his sword, grabbing his whetstone. As soon as Felix is settled in his desk chair, Sylvain clears his throat. “So.”

“So?” Felix prompts.

“His Highness is still seeing his ghosts, huh?”

Felix narrows his eyes. “He talks to himself, yes.”

Sylvain pushes a hand through his hair, sighing. For the first time all day, Felix can see the weight of the war draining him. Felix frowns, but he has no words of comfort for him. The war has changed all of them, he knows. It’s been five very long years.

“I never thought he’d become. . .this,” Sylvain murmurs. “You were right, I suppose.”

Felix’s lips press together. He doesn’t answer, but doesn’t need to. Sylvain keeps talking.

“Who knows, though? Ingrid and I chose to remain blind. Dedue said he’s always had it in him, but. . ."

“Did he?” Felix asks, lip curling in a small snarl.

“Well, since they met, at least,” says Sylvain, shrugging. “Maybe we didn’t know him as well as we thought.”

“That’s not true,” Felix says.

Sylvain looks up at him, eyes tired. “No?”

Felix shakes his head. “Something broke him in Duscur.” Felix runs his whetstone against his blade, his voice soft when he speaks. “I can’t blame him for that, though.”

Sylvain hums. He sighs out another breath a moment later. “Suppose I can’t procrastinate on seeing him much longer, huh?”

Felix tilts his head. “We can afford to wait until my blade’s sharpened.”

Sylvain’s lips tilt up slowly, the smile relaxing his face. “Yeah?”

Felix nods. “Lay down, Sylvain. I’m already going to have to change the sheets.”

Sylvain grins, pulling himself up onto the bed before Felix is finished with his statement. “Thanks, Fe.”

Sylvain’s asleep before Felix has even thought about how long he could take to make sure his blade was sharp. His snores fill the room quickly and Felix flicks his eyes in a roll as he works. As soon as his sword’s finished, he leaves Sylvain to his nap.

The walk to the cathedral is something that’s far more familiar than it used to be. When he was a student at the monastery, he hardly ever found himself in the chapel. The past few weeks had found him there more often than not. 

The chapel isn’t empty—it normally isn’t, in the daytime. The few worshippers and workers give the front of the cathedral a wide berth. Felix is used to the giant rubble pile, used to finding Dimitri either standing or pacing in front of it.

Today, he’s sitting. Felix can see the plate near him, the remains of a lunch on it. Marianne or Hilda must have brought him some food. Felix is just satisfied he’s eaten.

“Boar.”

Dimitri doesn’t respond besides to growl at Felix to go away.

Felix huffs a breath, crossing his arms. “Sylvain’s here.”  
_That_ gets his attention. Dimitri’s eye slides towards him before turning back to the rubble. “. . .Sylvain?”

“He’s come with an agreement from your forces. We plan to take Fhirdiad.”

“Fhirdiad?” snarls Dimitri. “We’re falling further and further away from Enbarr.”

“Fhirdiad is the best way to convince Edelgard to throw her soldiers in the wrong direction,” says Felix, trying to temper his anger. “Besides, it frees the people that have been suffering under Cornelia’s rule.”

Dimitri snarls without any discernible words. Felix counts his breathing before continuing.

“You’ll either fight with us, or—”

“Or _what_ , Felix?” Dimitri rises to his feet so quickly Felix doesn’t even see it. He refuses to cower when he crowds into Felix’s space, jutting his chin up to glare into Dimitri’s wild stare. “What will you do, if I go to Enbarr instead?”

“Drag you back,” Felix states. “I’ll tie you to a horse myself, though I doubt a horse will be too happy to have you on its back.”

Dimitri glares. Felix glares back.

“Going to Fhirdiad will not help the dead,” Dimitri growls.

“The dead are _dead_ ,” says Felix. “The people in Fhirdiad are alive and waiting for their wayward king to return.”

Dimitri makes a noise, puffing a breath out of his nose. He turns back to the rubble. Felix’s hands flex against his arms from where he’s still crossing them across his chest. They’re silent, the only sound breaking the tension between them is Dimitri’s strangled sounding breathing.

“Sylvain has agreed to our plan,” says Felix. “We will march on Fhirdiad, then we are going to go finish this war in Enbarr.”

That doesn’t seem to soothe him, not that Felix was fully expecting it to. He watches as Dimitri’s face crumples with emotion.

“Once she is dead, they can finally rest.”

Felix hates repeating himself. The conversations he has with Dimitri—if they can even be called as such—often circle back to him repeating himself. It makes him weary.

“The dead are dead. They don’t care about our war.”

"I hear them,” insists Dimitri. “Constantly."

Felix’s lip curls in a small sneer. "It's only us here, boar."

“This will be the way to let them rest in peace, Felix. Killing Edelgard is my final chance to let them find solace.”

He exhales a sharp breath, pressing his thumb between his brows. He can feel a headache starting to form. “That’s what they want, huh? Truly? Edelgard’s head?”

“She is the cause of all of this—”

“Edelgard was just a child when the Tragedy happened,” he says. “She played no part in it, even if she’s working with those that did.”

“The dead will rest when she’s alongside them.”

“You’re running around like a mad king,” Felix snaps. He knows this is probably the worst place to have this conversation, especially when there are monks and nuns within earshot. He can’t control the volume of his voice, though. “You are _alive_. Our friends are alive and are fighting for you!”

"Not you.”

Felix stops short, fuming. “What?”

“You have not been fighting with us,” Dimitri states. His tone is less-crazed, more calm, and it makes Felix want to scream even more. “You left."

“Left, yes. I left my father’s soldiers,” Felix growls. He’s so angry his hands are trembling. He wants to walk away, go wake Sylvain up and tell _him_ to handle Dimitri. A need to get the words out of his system overrides that desire to walk away. Despite everything protesting, he grits his teeth and lets them spill. “I left because I made a promise to meet up with the others here and I thought that would be the end of it, but Professor Byleth came back. The only one who stood a chance in ending this damned war was back and you think I was just going to up and leave to go fight for a country without a king?”

Dimitri turns to him, blue eye blazing in the late afternoon light. Felix can’t stand it, wrenches his gaze away. The next words he speaks come out softer. He feels like he’s been defeated.

"I thought you were dead until I saw you on that damned field,” he says. “Then, when I saw you chasing after Edelgard, I thought you were going to die a second time. That’s why I went after you.”

Dimitri startles. Felix watches confusion flicker across his face before his eye widens. "You. . .” He trails off, looking away. He brings a hand to his chin, brow furrowing as he looks into nothing. When he speaks next, his voice is soft, and it makes Felix’s heart clench at the tone reminiscent of their childhood days. “I remember, yes. You shielded me.”

Felix scoffs. “I fought to make sure you wouldn’t die.”

“Why?” Dimitri asks.

_“’Why?’”_

“You were right this entire time. I was just a beast lurking behind a mask. Why would you risk your own life to save me?”

“I wasn’t right,” Felix says, before he can stop himself. Dimitri looks to him. “You’re not—.” He growls, frustrated, turning away. His body fights against the words. They’re the exact opposite of what he had told Sylvain and Claude barely an hour before. “You’re a man who’s seen more than enough bloodshed for a lifetime. You’re bloodthirsty. But we all are, at this point.” He takes in a deep breath and turns, holding Dimitri’s gaze. “I was wrong. You’re not an animal or a monster. You're you, Dimitri.”

Dimitri takes in a sharp breath. His eye roams over Felix’s face as his lips part. Felix feels heat crawl across his skin and he turns away.

". . .I think that is the first time I've heard you call me by name in nine years, Felix,” Dimitri murmurs.

Felix snorts, shaking his head. He refuses to acknowledge the way his voice makes his heart thunder. "Then you've forgotten Gronder, after all."

The silence between them grows, and with it the unsettling feeling in Felix's stomach twists. He awaits the moment Dimitri loses this lucidity, the moment where he blinks and no longer sees Felix as _Felix_. He knows he could leave, return to his room and wake Sylvain to drag him here.

He waits, though. Stays the urge to turn on his heel and flee.

“We will march to Fhirdiad,” Dimitri breathes, slowly, his voice a low rumble, “then we move to Enbarr?”

Felix glances over. Dimitri is looking right at him. He nods. 

“Then we move to Enbarr.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix contradicting himself constantly bc of his emotions??? it's more likely than you think. next chapter: more blue lions!
> 
> also things are progressing smooth enough that i will definitely be able to continue updating on a mon/fri schedule, but that's only bc i wanna upload the final chapter of this before my birthday lmaoo
> 
> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616), if you want!


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Alliance and Kingdom join forces to face Cornelia in Fhirdiad. Felix and Dimitri actually have a conversation.

The march to where the Kingdom army has set up camp is not nearly as painful as prior marches have been. The Kingdom army’s retreat from Gronder had them settling in Faerghus, back towards the front line where the Dukedom met the loyalist’s territory. Felix is loath to admit that the march feels easier largely due to Sylvain being at his side, helping him watch over Dimitri while distracting him in the same breath. 

He hadn’t been lying to Hilda when he had told her Sylvain was his best friend.

The army crosses through Charon and Galatea territory to arrive at the camp in the midst of Fraldarius territory. They’ve been steadily moving further north since Gronder and Sylvain had told Claude and the professor that Fraldarius territory would be the safest place for them to join forces outside of Imperial scouts’ prying eyes.

They crest a hill with a few watchmen on it and as soon as they’re on the other side, Felix can see a sea of tents with Blaiddyd banners flying above them. Felix sees familiar faces amongst those at the ready to greet them when they reach the camp’s border. Sylvain had told him that despite their retreat, the Kingdom forces had hardly lost any of their top generals, which meant Felix’s eyes land on former classmates scattered about. The tightness in his chest uncoils, just a bit, as he sees them.

When Dimitri climbs down from his saddle, Felix watches as he’s engulfed in a hug by a fiery redhead, Mercedes only a step behind Annette. Felix’s throat tightens at the display and Sylvain sucks in a breath. All Dimitri does, though, is lift his hands to pat their heads before stalking away, Dedue following.He had seen Dimitri interacting with some of the children at the monastery, and didn’t expect much more than slight disdain for being forced into a hug. Sylvain, who had decidedly _not_ spent his free time hovering around Dimitri, is surprised by the actions.

“Whoa,” Sylvain murmurs. “He really has tempered his anger down.”

“For now,” says Felix. His lips part, but a shout of his name garners his attention. Annette is rushing towards _him_ now, and Sylvain laughs as she lunges at him. He catches her as she squeezes her arms around his neck.

“Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

“I can’t help but agree,” says a new voice. Felix glances over Annette’s head to see Ingrid smiling. “It’s been too long.”

Felix hums, his lips curling upwards despite his best efforts to keep a neutral face. Annette finally releases him and lets Mercedes and Ingrid into his personal space. He allows the hug from Ingrid, the kiss on the cheek from Mercedes, but he grumbles the entire time. They take it in stride far easier than he expected—though he knows they’ve been dealing with Dimitri far too long to care much about Felix’s mild grumpiness. 

“Lord Rodrigue will be expecting a greeting, you know,” Ingrid says.

“I don’t need to greet my old man,” says Felix. “I’m busy.”

“No, you’re not,” calls Claude, beside Professor Byleth, arms full of cargo from the convoy. “Go mingle, we can handle setting up camp! _Hey, Hilda, come help me!”_

Felix glares at Claude’s wink, ignoring the far off “ _What!_ ” that Hilda basically shrieks. He doesn’t get a chance to protest before Sylvain’s hand is on his wrist and he’s being dragged through Kingdom tents. Ingrid follows them dutifully, Annette and Mercedes going off to find Ashe so that he may come say hello later.

They don’t get too far within the swell of tents before Dedue is there, Dimitri not in sight. Felix frowns as he approaches, but accepts the hand he reaches out in a clasp.

“I must thank you for saving His Highness’ life,” he says.

Felix flicks his eyes in a roll. “I didn’t save him. I just kept him alive.”

“I don’t know, Fe,” Sylvain interjects, “he’s been more. . .calm with you close by than he has been in months.”

He ignores the heat that fills his face at that. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sylvain shrugs. “I’m just saying—”

“I don’t want you to say _anything_ —”

“Alright.” Ingrid brings her hands to her hips, frowning at them. “I thought this behaviour would’ve been left behind years ago, you two. Come on, Felix, I’m sure your father is waiting.”

Dedue leaves them as Ingrid all but drags them the rest of the way. His father’s tent is just how Felix remembered when he had left the lines in Fraldarius territory nearly half a year before. The colour of his family’s banner is hemmed into the edges of the tent flaps, the entire tent giving off the aura of an important general.

“Is Gilbert here, too?” he asks dryly, before Ingrid can step ahead to open the tent.

Ingrid looks from Felix in shock to Sylvain, who sucks in a breath. Felix watches as anger starts to line Ingrid’s expression.

“You didn’t _tell_ him?” she demands.

“It didn’t come up! We don’t normally talk about our own fathers, let alone other peoples'!”

Felix’s brow furrows as he glances between the two of them. From Annette’s bubbly greeting, he hadn’t expected anything could have happened to her father, despite how bad of a father he was to her.

“When did it happen?” he asks, interrupting Ingrid’s scolding.

Sylvain and she both jolt, Sylvain’s hand rubbing the back of his head. After a moment, he sighs.

“It happened at Gronder,” he says. “He tried to convince Dimitri not to run ahead and—well. Bernadetta von Varley was a good shot.”

Felix frowns. He remembers Bernadetta’s shriek when Ignatz’s arrow had gotten her shoulder, before his next had pierced through her throat. “She was,” he agrees, dully.

“He got a better death than he probably deserved,” says Sylvain, shrugging.

Ingrid hisses, “Sylvain,” but Felix ignores it.

“You saw how he treated Annette, Ingrid,” he says. “But whatever. The dead are dead. Where’s my old man?”

He only asked so they could move on. Ingrid brings them right up to the tent edge, clearing her throat. “Lord Rodrigue?” she calls.

The first words he hears from his father in months is a soft chuckle before, “Ingrid, my dear, please come in.”

Ingrid pulls the flap aside so Felix can walk in first, the others following a step behind him. His father’s back is to them, leaning over a small table, quill in hand.

“I’ve heard from the excitement that the Alliance has reached us. Have you gone and seen Prince Dimitri yet?”

“She’s seen all of us,” states Felix, his fingers curling and uncurling at his sides.

He watches his father’s shoulders tense in surprise before he looks over his shoulder.

“Felix.” Rodrigue smiles, coming up and clasping both of his shoulders in hand. “My son.”

“Father,” Felix greets, his shoulders tensing. He looks away. “I am glad you’re alright.”

Rodrigue’s smile crinkles his eyes and Felix is tugged into another hug. He returns it after a moment’s hesitation. His father smells like he always did in Felix’s youth—sword polish and the earthy tones of the cologne he had been wearing since before Felix had been born. He doesn’t want to admit how safe he feels just smelling it, and pulls back from the hug before his father starts letting him go.

“I heard from Dedue and Sylvain what you did for His Highness at Gronder. I’m so proud of you.”

Felix’s lips twist into a scowl. “I didn’t do it for you to be _proud_ of me.” He huffs a breath, making a terse noise. “This is pointless. I need to go help set up camp.”

“Claude just said—”

He fixes Ingrid with a look. “I’m not leaving my work for others, Ingrid,” he states. “I’ll see you all later.”

Felix tries to make a quick escape. Sylvain and Ingrid let him leave the tent, thankfully, and he starts to make his way back towards the Alliance side. Some of the soldiers he passes whisper amongst themselves as he continues his trek. He catches bits and pieces, trying not to dwell.

_“. . .Fraldarius heir?”_

_“. . .abandoned the front. . .”_

_“. . .heard he saved the prince at Gronder. . .”_

It takes all of his self-control not to snarl at their mindless gossip, but he manages. He feels like he’s so close to being free again, the Crest of Flames banners _right there_ , when a small figure slides up beside him. Felix stops short as Annette smiles at him, Mercedes once again a step behind, her own gentle smile curling her lips.

“What’s the rumpus, grumpus?” Annette asks.

 _“Annie_ ,” comes Mercedes’ soft reprimand, but Felix just rolls his eyes.

“I’m just—.” He stops, finally processing her words. He turns to her, eyes narrowing. Annette’s beaming brightly up at him. “What? What did you call me?”

Annette’s grin grows impossibly wider and she brings her hands in front of her, clasping them at her chest. “You’re grumpy!” she declares. “Why? Aren’t you happy to see us?”

“I’m not— _not_ pleased,” he manages to say. He frowns. “Does it matter?”

“It does to us,” Mercedes says, gently clasping his arm in her grip. “Ashe is helping with the cooks. He wants to see you, too, though.”

“I have things to do with—”

“Claude said so himself, Felix, you’re allowed to mingle. They can handle setting up tents for now.”

Felix’s lips part, but he can’t find it in himself to argue. He sighs, resigning himself to another bout of being dragged along. Annette loops arms with him, happily informing him of everything that’s happened. Mercedes chimes in from time to time, correcting an exaggeration or downplaying her own skills in battle.

They lead him relatively quickly, following the scent trail of food cooking that drifts lazily through the tents. When they come upon the cooking fires, Felix sees a familiar head of silver hair and pauses, ignoring how Annette and Mercedes both step forward and jerk oddly at being stopped by him.

“It wasn’t just the boar,” he murmurs.

“What?” questions Annette.

He can’t answer her, though. Ashe has looked up from his pot, his smile as bright and cheerful as the hand he lifts in a wave as he approaches.

Felix remembers having to look _down_ on Ashe. He’s not sure how he likes him being at eye level.

“Felix!” Ashe greets. “It’s so good to see you again.”

And Felix, with all the tact in Faerghus under his belt, just goes, “Why are you taller?”

**.**

Felix had forgotten just how cold Fhirdiad was. His body feels numb, his fingertips icy as he curls them uselessly at his sides. It was summer in Fhirdiad, the sky barely cloudy, but he feels chilled to the bone.

_A stray turret._

Cornelia’s last stand against the Blaiddyds and those that had stayed loyal to them. Felix can barely stand looking at his father’s body when he’s brought to him at the tailend of what should be their most victorious battle of the war. Fhirdiad was freed. Felix should have been celebrating.

Instead, he’s informed that his father had been killed by a stray turret.

Felix hadn’t been close to the frontlines, when Dimitri had reached Cornelia. She had mages acting as hostage-holders for innocent civilians. Felix had left the main line to go deal with them on his own, Annette following. They had been dealing with their own fray; he had only heard Cornelia’s taunts before Dimitri had taken her down from a distance. He hadn’t been close enough to know, not until later. 

It was meant for Dimitri. Rodrigue had leaped in front of the blast.

Felix can’t even look at him for the duration of clean up. The citizens of Fhirdiad are thrilled that the army’s victorious. There’s to be a celebration after sunset, when Dimitri goes and greets his people. Sylvain tries to stay close to Felix, but Felix just feels _numb_.

According to Mercedes, who had been there trying to heal his father, Rodrigue had had plenty of words for Dimitri. Felix didn’t ask if he had any words for, or even about, him. He knows the answer.

Mercedes talks while she bandages Felix’s shoulder. A stray arrow from a pegasus knight had gotten him, and she tends to it with gentle hands.

“He’s another ghost for Dimitri to blame on himself,” is what he spits at her, though he knows she doesn’t deserve it.

She takes it in stride, despite it all. “He absolved Dimitri of any guilt, Felix. It was kinder than I think I could manage if I knew I was dying.”

Felix takes in a breath at that, counting to ten. When he exhales, Mercedes is tightening the bandage on his shoulder. “I think you and Annette both are too kind for the world we were thrust into.”

As soon as his wounds are treated, Felix finds his uncle. He manages to speak clearly to him about returning Rodrigue to their lands for a proper burial in the plot next to Felix’s mother’s grave. There’s a stone already there without a proper grave, one to honour Glenn despite his body never being recovered at Duscur. His uncle gives him some of his father’s positions, assuring Felix he’ll handle the territory until Felix returns.

At this point, Felix isn’t sure if he will. He just agrees with his uncle so he can leave faster.

He ignores the festivities. He hides out when Dimitri is set to greet the people. The boar is speaking clearer than he has in months, but it wasn’t enough to draw him out of what he’s feeling. He’s angry and sad but it all feels diluted by a numbness he hates. He wasn’t immune to emotion as much as he wished he could be, but this almost feels monstrous.

Sylvain finds him in the midst of the celebrations while he hangs close to the wall in the shadows. Felix had introduced Ingrid to Judith earlier, and he's been watching Ingrid fluster while they talk. Judith seems pleased with the attention, despite Ingrid's red face. He only looks away when he spots Sylvain approaching.

Sylvain’s carrying two glasses in hand, full of a rusty brown liquid that turns out to be the most disgusting drink of alcohol Felix had ever had in all of his years. It was some of the few left in the alcohol stores of the castle. All of the _good shit_ , according to Sylvain, had mostly been drained by Cornelia and her people. There were a few bottles of sweet wine left, but Sylvain had figured he had a better shot at getting Felix a glass of burning ale instead.

“Tell me you haven’t given Lysithea alcohol,” says Felix, curling his lip but draining the rest of the glass he had been brought.

Sylvain chuckles. “No, I don’t think so. Hilda, however, seems to have a taste for it.”

“Hilda would,” Felix says. He looks to Sylvain, shaking his head. “I’m going out for some air. I’m okay, Sylvain.”

“Are you?” Sylvain asks. “You lost your father.”

“He died in service of the prince,” Felix says, lifting his chin. “I’m sure he’d tell me it was something he’d be proud to do. I’m angry, and I—.” He stops, looking away from Sylvain’s stare. “I miss him, yes. But we have things to do. A war to end.” He hands Sylvain his empty glass. “I’ll process my grief later. Not tonight, though.”

Sylvain frowns. “Well, I suppose that’s better than you outright ignoring it.” He takes the last sip of his own ale, grimacing slightly at the taste before he gestures to Felix with the empty glass. “If you’re still out there in an hour, I’m dragging you back in here. You shouldn’t isolate yourself right now.”

Felix waves a hand dismissively, and walks away. The halls of Fhirdiad’s castle are as familiar to him as the halls in his family’s estate. He had been here so often as a child he could walk the halls backwards and blindfolded and still find his way to Dimitri’s childhood bedroom.

He doesn’t make his way there now. He heads out onto one of the smaller balconies that line the castle’s edges.

Despite it being summer, the night in Fhirdiad is chilled. It’s not cold enough for his breath to fog in the air, but there’s still that bitter bite to the air that seemed to never leave the north. The moon is shining overhead, stars twinkling beside it in the sky. If it had been any other night, Felix might have said it was lovely. He goes through a few deep breaths, crossing his arms as he leans his elbows against the railing. 

Maybe Sylvain was right. He probably shouldn’t be isolating himself. He can remember that when Glenn died, all he wanted was to be with Dimitri, but when Dimitri had returned from Duscur it had changed everything.

He sighs, dropping his head to look at the ground below. He shouldn’t be thinking about those thoughts.

Footsteps sound on the stone behind him. Felix doesn’t look up. He can place those shuffling steps well. He had heard those boots pacing across stone for long enough before they even turned their eyes to Fhirdiad.

“It’s brisk out tonight,” Dimitri says, and Felix inhales a sharp breath.

His tone is lighter than it’s been. Less rusty from disuse. Felix had heard him earlier, after he had first walked into the castle proper and been found by Hilda and Marianne. Dimitri had been talking with Sylvain and Dedue about how pointless it was for him to go greet the people he had abandoned.

Felix wants to point that out. He wants to ask how Dimitri is feeling. Felix’s father _died in his arms_. If there was ever a solid reason for him to be a beast, it would be now, but he was talking casually. Discussing the weather like they hadn’t reclaimed an entire city from the Empire merely half a day before.

He can’t even find it in himself to be angry, though. All Felix feels is a tiredness settling into his limbs.

“It’ll be worse come winter,” he responds.

Dimitri hums, coming to his side. Felix glances at him from the corner of his eye as he reaches out to grip the railing before he relaxes his fingers. While Felix had chosen to dress down for the evening—as had most of their friends—Dimitri still stood in his standard clothes and that damned furred cloak. The only difference was that he had no armour on. His hair was brushed, half of it gathered up in a style that tells him Annette got to him. She had tried to braid Felix's hair, but he had been busy when she hunted him down. Dimitri's own hands are bare as they flex against the top of the balusters. 

Felix looks away. “Shouldn’t you be in there? This is all about you, after all.”

A soft noise escapes Dimitri. “I believe it’s more about us reclaiming our home,” he says, words heedful, as if he had no idea how Felix would react.

All Felix does is shrug. “It’s still something you should be a part of.”

“I. . ..” Dimitri trails off. Felix can practically hear him carefully choosing his words. “I have never been a fan of all that attention.”

Felix’s mouth opens, closes. The pain in his shoulder tells him it can't be a dream, but he questions it. He cannot fathom this conversation is actually happening. He wonders if Sylvain gave him a drugged drink and he passed out from just that one glass. 

“I also—. I wanted to find you, Felix. Sylvain mentioned you needed some air.”

Felix’s eyes close. “I did. I didn’t want to be in there with all those people, either.” He opens his eyes to glance at Dimitri, who hastily looks away when Felix does. “What did you want?”

“I apologised to the others earlier,” he says. “I owe you one as well.”

Felix scoffs. “It’s not your fault my father died. He made his own choice.”

“I understand that,” Dimitri says. “I did not just mean about Rodrigue, though.”

The words go unspoken. The weeks upon weeks of Felix watching over him. The years where Dimitri had just decided living on his own instead of going to any of their homes was best. The monstrous beast he had become by hitting the lowest point in his life.

Felix’s fingers curl into fists against the crooks of his elbows. “My old man would want us to push forward,” he states. “Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain.” 

“I don’t plan to. I will see Edelgard’s head hang, but I see now how selfish I’ve been. Freeing Fhirdiad was the right choice. I just didn’t see it before.”

“You were. . .distracted,” says Felix, as delicately as he can. He still doesn't quite understand what exactly happened with Dimitri's mind. He doesn't think he ever will. “That’s what Sylvain’s been for. To guide you.”

Dimitri snorts. “Perhaps.”

Felix narrows his eyes, cutting a glance towards him. “You’re laughing.”

“He is far smarter than he lets anyone else believe,” says Dimitri, exhaling a long breath. “Though he still wishes someone else had this job.”

Felix watches him before he turns his gaze away. He does not want to think about how his heart clenches, how desperately he’s missed this. He had locked all those emotions away, for _good_ , he had thought, and they were all bubbling up to the surface. 

His jaw works as he considers his words. Carefully, gingerly, he murmurs, “I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

He can feel Dimitri’s puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

“The way I’ve acted towards you.” His hands curl into fists and he stares at them. “It was wrong.”

There is a brief pause, before Dimitri sighs, “You were not, though.”

“I _was_ ,” he repeats. “I never should’ve treated you like you were nothing more than a beast.”

“Felix—.”

“No, shut up, _listen to me_.” Dimitri’s jaw shuts with a click as Felix turns to him. He has no idea who he’s more mad at—himself, or Dimitri, for trying to excuse his behaviour. “Perhaps if I had spoken better, to someone else instead of just deciding you were a boar ready to be let loose, they would’ve been able to help you,” he says. “But I didn’t. I turned away from you and I left you.”

Dimitri’s lips part; Felix barrels on.

“I’m _sorry_ ,” he manages. The words all but rip from his chest. “I’m sorry I did that to you.”

Dimitri’s eye widens, and he stares at Felix with a dumbfounded expression. His brows start to furrow and Felix rips his gaze away.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice softer.

“I understand why you did it,” Dimitri murmurs. “You don’t need to apologise.”

Felix closes his eyes. He resists pushing his fist against them. Instead, he takes a breath, and counts to ten, exhaling it slowly. When he finishes, he drops his hand back down, opening his eyes, though he stares ahead. 

“Did he give you the sweet wine, or that awful ale?”

Dimitri blinks at him. “What?”

“Sylvain. He brought me the most disgusting ale I’ve ever had.”

“Oh.” Dimitri startles slightly with a snorted laugh. “No, I—. I haven’t wanted to drink. Not yet.” He pauses. “Was it really that awful?”

“Absolutely repulsive,” says Felix. He shifts so his forearms dangle over the edge of the railing. “I drank it all.”

That makes Dimitri sigh, almost fondly. It’s as if those few snorts of laughter were all Felix was allowed. He thinks it’s fair. They shouldn’t be laughing, not quite yet, but he thinks—he _knows_ —his father would prefer it to how they have been.

Felix still has to ask a question though.

“Are you still hearing voices?”

Dimitri’s eye widens. He glances away, a blush colouring his cheek. “I do not think they will ever truly leave me,” he murmurs. “For now, though, they—the voices, I mean—are quiet.”

Felix nods, taking in a breath. He pushes himself away from the railing, watching Dimitri’s face crumple just slightly. He keeps his own eyes pointed ahead as he takes a single step to his side, closer to Dimitri.

There’s a sharp inhale that Felix ignores. “It’s cold.”  
_Barely_ , Felix thinks. They've both suffered worse. He only voices a small, non-committal hum. 

There is a long moment of stilted breathing and tension between them, then Dimitri slowly lifts his arm, dragging his cape with it to wrap the edge around Felix’s shoulder. Felix lets himself be guided closer, pressed against Dimitri’s side. Felix looks away when Dimitri’s hand lands atop his wrist, his fingers brushing Felix’s bare skin.

It’s a hesitant, tentative moment. Neither of them are completely sure if they should be doing what they are. It's too new, too different from how they've been interacting before this. It's barely been twelve hours since his father died; this moment is too fragile to make him feel anything but unsure.

Despite his uncertainty, Felix doesn’t feel uneasy. He feels content, warm, and he wonders if Dimitri feels the same. When his fingers stop brushing his hand, settling against him, Felix lets out a shaky exhale.

“You feel warm,” Dimitri murmurs.

“I think that’s just you,” he quips, though his voice wavers.

“Thank you, Felix.”

He stiffens, and Dimitri tenses as well. “For what?” he asks.

“For coming back to me.”

Felix’s lips press together. He doesn’t shift away. They stand there, huddled against a night that neither would truly consider cold in any other situation, while the celebrations of freeing Fhirdiad continue just a few metres away.

They stand there, together, while the body of Felix’s father is being carted away with the colours of House Fraldarius wrapped around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my sincerest apologies to any Rodrigue stans,,,,,,,,
> 
> i'm on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616)


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix avoids talking about his emotions. The rest of the army prepares for Merceus and Enbarr.

Felix does not acknowledge the night his father died.

By the time they’re back at the monastery, planning the best course of action to take Fort Merceus, he’s focusing on other things. He has to, no matter what the others may think. He refuses to think about the helplessness he felt the moment he heard about his father. He refuses to think about how nice it had felt, with Dimitri’s arm around him. He refuses to remember how warm it had been for those few, scant minutes until Dimitri had to return to the others before Dedue came looking for him.

While Felix doesn't avoid him, he doesn't seek Dimitri out. He talks with Dimitri as much as he talks with anyone. They all know they can find him in the training grounds in his free time. Sylvain checks in on him to make sure he’s not overdoing it in his grief (he’s not), Ingrid tries to mother him (unnecessarily), and Annette and Mercedes succeed in gathering up ingredients to make him non-sweet baked goods with Lysithea (unneeded, but. . .appreciated). It makes him feel almost nostalgic for those first few months back at the Academy all those years ago. But that’s in the past, and they have to move forward.

That’s what he’s doing.

Felix knows what his father would want. His father would want them to guarantee Dimitri’s placement on the throne. That’s what he plans to do. He doesn’t have time to dwell on anything else he may want.

Any of his wants are selfish desires that had no place in a war. 

Edelgard may have been sending troops towards Arianrhod, but that meant little in the grand scheme of the war. It only gave them a slight advantage. The Emperor wasn’t a fool. The last stronghold between the southeast and Enbarr was Merceus. Not only was it nearly impossible to breach in times of peace, with the war in full swing, they didn’t stand a chance of just walking in and asking for a surrender. Fort Merceus had its nickname for a reason. Despite countless attempts to garner an interior layout, they hadn’t been successful. Claude’s old plan of dressing as Imperial soldiers and sneaking in had been their best option before.

Now, though, Claude and the professor stand at the head of the war council table in the Cardinals’ Room. The only other ones present are their top generals—their former classmates from both houses, all gathered together in one room.

“I’ve decided that we need a little extra help,” says Byleth, their tone devoid of any hint to what they may be feeling.

At his right, Dimitri makes a noise. Sylvain is the one who speaks, sitting across the table from Felix with his arms crossed. “Extra help?”

“There was a reason we left part of our army in Fhirdiad,” Dimitri says. “We need to hold the line in the northwest and begin restoration of Faerghus.”

“We’re not going to call them back.” Claude gives Dimitri a smile. “Don’t worry a hair on your pretty, little head, Highness. Teach is right, though. We’re going to need extra hands to even think about taking down Merceus.”

“Where do you propose we _get_ those spare hands, Claude?” asks Lorenz, lifting his chin to stare down at the Alliance Leader.

“Easy,” Claude says. “They’re already marching.”

Lorenz recoils, nose scrunching. “What?”

“Don’t worry a hair on your pretty head either, Lorenz,” drawls Byleth. “I’ve already approved it. We’ll meet with them just outside of Merceus and storm the fort together.”

“That’s the plan?” Sylvain questions. “Storming the fort?”

“Close, but not quite. With our added numbers, the main goal is to work our way around, then in,” says Claude. “It’s not going to be easy—once they’re onto us, they’ll be prepared to fight us until the only ones left standing are the winners.”

“That’s how war works, Claude,” chimes Hilda. “We are all well aware.”

“I’m only saying that because this will be one of our most difficult battles yet,” Claude says. “We are, however, at our most powerful with all of the forces on our side. If any army stood a chance at defeating the Stubborn Old General, it’s us.”

“With that being said,” Byleth moves to gather up their documents, signifying the conclusion of the council, “we march in a week. Everyone needs to handle any preparations they need done before we leave. See to it.”

**.**

Claude’s additional support comes in the form of the Almyran military. Felix doesn’t want to ask how he got them through Fódlan’s Locket, or why they were so willing to help in a war that didn’t involve them at all.

They succeed in taking Merceus. It’s only when Byleth and the Death Knight are facing off that they realise something’s _wrong_. It wasn’t that the battle was easy—their battles with Imperial strongholds never went _easy_ , they were always hard won—but there was a tension in the air that made Felix _antsy_. 

He watches as the Death Knight, the last person of the Emperor’s that hadn’t been taken down or taken prisoner, pull his horse out of reach from the Sword of the Creator. Claude’s wyvern is close by, and Felix can see the light from a notched arrow in Failnaught. The Death Knight doesn’t even seem to care about either. He gestures with his lance up, towards the sky. Felix’s eyes cut upwards. The sun is starting to set, the battle taking far longer than any of them had anticipated. 

Dimitri sees it first. 

Felix hears his loud, booming shout for them all to retreat from the fort. A ridiculous thought. Felix drops his gaze, ready to argue that they had just won the battle, but does not get a chance to voice it. Sylvain, on horseback, scoops him up into the saddle, ignoring Felix’s indiginat yelp.

He's lifted his gaze to shout at him that he's not a rag doll to be tossed around, but his words fail him when he looks back at the sky. Felix sees the light, piercing through the setting sun. It shimmers against the air. There’s more, gathering across the sky. It almost looks like a shooting star. Except it’s not. Claude’s own voice shouts above them as his wyvern gathers a few that are on foot. 

The first javelin falls just as soon as he and Sylvain get through the gates. 

It’s a thunderous noise when it lands. A loud, violent _crack_ that makes Felix’s ears ring before they can register the roaring crumble of the Stubborn Old General falling apart brick by brick. The second one is closer to the gate they retreated through. His ears don’t get a chance to recover. Sylvain’s horse rears under them—Felix barely manages to grab Sylvain before he gets bucked. Sylvain’s hissed, _“Fuck!”_ sounds off as his ears try to adjust again. He's not sure how many fall in total. It seems that just when they're prepared to call the last, another one slices through sky and air to collide with the ground and reduce the fort to its foundations.

Afterwards, when the javelins stop falling and Fort Merceus is nothing more than ruins and rubble, they try to recover from what happened. Lysithea, despite her best effort, is shaking when Felix spots her. Her eyes are wide, staring at the remains of the fort, and Felix walks to her after he’s escaped Mercedes’ grasp. 

Lysithea has a small cut on her cheek that’s splotchy with blood, but otherwise seems fine. She was one of their strongest mages; Felix doubts anyone got close enough to hit her with a weapon. She blinks when Felix reaches her side.

“It was them,” she breathes, her voice trembling. Felix watches her hands curl into fists, her knuckles white despite their quaking. “I know it was them.” 

Felix doesn’t say anything. Her eyebrows pinch and she pitches forward, face burying in his chest. She doesn’t cry, but she shakes nearly as bad as a newborn foal. He takes in a breath, wrapping his arms around her. Over her head, he can see Raphael and Leonie gathering some supplies. Leonie spots him, sees Lysithea, nods and gives him a weak smile.

He’s certain the others are trying to figure out what those lights were. He knows Claude’s sent a small force out to try to track down the Death Knight. He knows they’ll probably find more questions than answers. He knows that Dimitri and Sylvain and the others from Faerghus will start looking for him so they can talk more. He knows Lysithea will certainly deny this moment as soon as it’s over. He’s still needed here, though. Felix thinks over what he could say, what would be _best_ suited for something like this. He has no idea why she feels personally affected by those javelins, but she has and it’s something he’s going to have to deal with since he walked up to her. He’s not one to mince his words. He takes in another breath, counting to himself. Lysithea’s trembles slow while he exhales.

“Whatever you’re feeling, it’s alright.” He pats her shoulder gently. “You don’t need to pretend this hasn’t affected you. We need to power through, though. We can’t relax just yet.”

Lysithea sniffles, nods, and draws back. Her eyes are shining, but no tears have fallen. She sets her jaw, looking up at him with determination. “You’re right,” she says. “I need to speak with Claude. Thank you—I appreciate it, Felix.”

He nods as she steps back. As soon as she’s turned her back on him, a hand claps him on the shoulder. Felix startles, looking up into Sylvain’s tired face. He smiles down at him, despite dried blood making hair stick to his forehead.

“That was cute,” he drawls. “His Highness needs us, though.”

Felix’s eyes narrow. “I’m not at his beck and call,” he states, but follows him anyway.

**.**

Felix thinks at the end of the battle he’s running solely on adrenaline and bitter elixirs he’s choked down between cutting through enemies. The only time he felt like he had to breathe was when they had taken down Hubert before the palace’s gates and Dimitri and Claude had thanked all of them for getting them this far.

He fights alongside Mercedes and Ashe as they storm the palace. When they reach the throne room, he’s seen far too much to be more than slightly off put by Edelgard’s transformation. Claude and most of the others from his army are sweeping the rest of the palace, leaving Dimitri the task he’s been aiming for since he had found out Edelgard was the Flame Emperor nearly five and a half years ago. 

Felix is limping when Dimitri offers Edelgard a hand. Getting into the throne room had been more perilous than he had thought it would be. His vision is clouding when he sees Dimitri’s lance cut her down. 

“It’s over,” he breathes.

He hears Mercedes, farther away than she should be, since he’s certain that’s her hand on his shoulder. “Felix?” 

“We won,” he whispers. 

Ashe hastens to catch him as he tilts. Dimitri and the professor turn and there's a _dagger in Dimitri's shoulder_. The only other thing he sees is Dimitri’s eye on him before his vision completely clouds over with darkness. 

When he wakes, later, he’s in an unfamiliar bed. His entire body aches, like he’s been thrown from the saddle of a wyvern and landed in one of Leonie’s pit traps. Pain radiates out from his stomach, but when he tries, he can feel his toes and fingers curl.

He hears soft singing, interspersed with some humming. It’s a familiar voice, one he’s longed to hear singing again for years—though he figures if he tells her as such, it would just embarrass them both. Her lyrics are ones of bandages and healing magic. They make Felix rasp a breath in that could have been a laugh, if he wasn’t so bloody sore. Annette appears above him, her smile bright.

“You’re finally awake!” she exclaims. Then her face changes to one of put upon anger, her cheeks blowing out in a pout. "Oh, I'm so mad at you! Do you know how worried we were?"

Felix just makes a noise, terse and tense in his dry throat.

Annette rolls her eyes, anger evaporating before his eyes. "Well, anyway, now that you're awake, I might be able to go join the others, after all."

“What’s happened?” he asks, but his voice is muddled and raw. 

Annette shakes her head, helping him sit so he can drink half a glass of water without choking. She plumps the pillows behind him as he drinks slowly and settles at his hip. When she takes the glass, Felix turns his head and feels his hair brush his neck. He reaches up to feel and his fingers run over bumps of a braid. He rolls his eyes, but lets Annette speak.

“Don’t worry too much, grumpy pants,” she says. “It’s only been a few hours. The soldiers have already broken into the alcohol stores, though. His Highness—and Mercedes—were both still hovering here, but I told them I would watch over you so Mercedes could go bathe before the festivities truly start. Dedue and Claude tugged His Highness away.”

He glances around the unfamiliar room. It must have been a suite in the palace. The bed is large, curtains tied back to reveal the expanse of the room. There’s a large hearth at the other wall, cushy chairs around it. Paintings line the walls, and there’s a window hidden by more curtains to his left. 

Felix hums softly. He vaguely recalls seeing Edelgard’s slumped over body after the battle. “We won, then?”

“Of course we won!” Annette’s exasperation is only slightly believable—she looks far too relieved and delighted for it to be too real. “Would we be celebrating otherwise?”

“We could,” he says and shrugs, wincing slightly as he feels a tug on his stomach. He looks down. He’s bare chested, though most of his stomach and upper body are wrapped with gauze bandages. “Oh.”

 _“‘Oh?_ ’” Annette asks. “What, you didn’t notice you had been stabbed?”

“I’ve been stabbed a lot of times,” says Felix. “Go on, Annette, I’ll be fine.”

“Oh, no, absolutely not. I promised them I would make sure you didn’t do something reckless, like try to climb out of bed.”

“Getting out of bed isn’t reckless,” Felix says. “I can manage that.”

“No, you can’t. Neither can Sylvain, which is why Ingrid is next door watching him.” She jabs her thumb in the direction of the wall behind the bed. Felix frowns, looking at her.

“What happened to Sylvain?”

“His horse got killed underneath him,” Annette says. “She landed on top of him and broke his leg.”

Felix exhales a slightly painful breath. Sylvain had loved his mare, he doesn't think he'll be taking it well. “Were we the worst injured?”

“You and Sylvain? Pretty much. No one died, thankfully. Hilda’s arm got busted up and she claimed it was really bad until Marianne almost started crying,” Annette explains. “And Lorenz is lamenting about a new scar cutting through his eyebrow, but that’s it.”

Felix’s eyes flick in a roll. “Of course he’s bitching about a single scar.”

“Felix!” Annette sounds delighted by his word choice. “I think the proper term is _whining.”_

He thinks he would laugh, if his body wasn’t so sore. As it stands, he looks away to try to hide his smile. “Anyway. Did we find Rhea?”

Annette looks away, a small frown tilting her lips. “We found where they were holding her.”

Felix winces, slightly. Seteth had to have been beside himself with that news. He wonders how the professor must feel—they had hardly been invested in finding Rhea besides to demand answers from her. From what he had known, they and Claude had been focused more on ending the war than dealing with the church side of things. 

“Right. Well.” He attempts to clear his throat, the movement making his stomach muscles ripple and contract in pain from where it pulls on his stitches. “You can go join the others. I’ll be fine.”

Annette is undeterred. She turns her fierce gaze back to him, balling her fists in front of her chest. “No way! You’re stuck with me. I don’t break my promises, Felix Fraldarius.” 

“I’m sure this isn’t one that needs to be kept,” he says.

“Oh, yes it does! If you fall getting out of bed and rip your stitches, you’ll bleed out! So, I’m staying until—”

There's one quick knock on the door before it opens. Felix's eyes are starting to narrow, but he stops short when he sees who walks in. Dimitri's left arm is in a sling, tied to his chest. Felix remembers a dagger being embedded there before he lost consciousness. Annette hadn't mentioned it. Felix frowns, but can't drag his gaze away from Dimitri to fix her with a look. Dimitri looks ragged. He's dressed down, shoulders just slightly slumped, looking tired, but he's got a gentle smile on his face.

"Annette, I've come to—." His eye lands on where Felix is propped up against the pillows. "Felix." His name rushes out of Dimitri in a reverent breath. "You're awake."

"Has Marianne looked at your shoulder, Your Highness?" asks Annette.

Her voice distracts both of them into looking at her. Felix turns his eyes quickly back to Dimitri's arm. He can't see what bandages may be there, underneath his dark shirt, but he can imagine them.

"Ah, she has. It will take some time to mend, but it will be fine." Dimitri clears his throat and Felix looks away as pink colours his cheeks. "I've come to relieve you. Professor Byleth thought you might like to help Mercedes and Lysithea with cakes."

"Ooh, yes!" Annette leaps up, clapping her hands. "We'll make the best cakes for the celebration!" She quickly leans over to kiss his cheek before all but prancing towards the door. "Bye, Felix, don't do anything stupid!" Dimitri bends when she stands on her tiptoe, receiving a cheek kiss as well. "Bye, Your Highness!"

She disappears in a swish of her skirts, leaving Dimitri standing at the door, watching after her, his hand still pressed against the frame. Felix’s eyes narrow as he looks over Dimitri. There’s no other obvious injuries, and he doesn’t seem to be limping. 

"Why didn't you get the same warning?" asks Felix, trying to cross his arms but it's not worth how it pulls on his wound.

“Hmm? Oh.” Dimiti huffs a small breath. “Probably because she and everyone else has already lectured me about this afternoon,” he murmurs, shutting the door gingerly before walking forward.

Felix stares at him. “What happened?” 

_That_ startles Dimitri. He stops partway to the bed, eye widening as he blinks. His cheeks turn pink again and he glances away, lifting a hand to push some hair behind his ear. “Well, I—. Annette did not tell you?”

“Would I be asking if she had?” Felix’s voice is nothing but a deadpan.

“Oh.” Dimitri chuckles. “I suppose not. Well, when I saw you were falling, I—. I had been stabbed, you see.”

“Yes, I saw. Edelgard’s dagger, in your shoulder.” He gestures. “It’s obvious. What did you do?”

“I pulled the dagger from my shoulder so that I might reach you before you hit the ground.”

“You—.” Felix stops, processing that. He feels nothing but shock for a few seconds before it twists into anger. “You did _what_?”

“I did not wish to see you—”

 _“Ashe_ was there! He was already catching me!” 

“You are right, of course, it was foolish, but I did not—”

“What is the first thing you are ever told to do when _stabbed_ , Dimitri?” 

Dimitri’s mouth opens, closes. He’s still standing halfway to the bed. Felix is glad he’s not closer. He has the urge to shake him by his good shoulder. 

“You are not to remove what’s stabbing you without a healer present,” says Dimitri, softly.

“And you did it anyway,” Felix snaps.

“Well, I—”

“Mercedes was right beside me, too. I was going to be fine.”

“Logically, I know that— _knew_ that,” Dimitri responds. “I acted impulsively. Again. I apologise.”

Felix groans, leaning his head back against the pillows so that he doesn’t have to deal with that stare of his. “Don’t apologise to me over injuring yourself,” he states. “Just don’t let it happen over me.”

“Right. Of course.” 

Felix’s eyes roll. “Come here. Sit down.”

“Oh. I wouldn’t—.”

“Dimitri.” Felix lifts his head, looking to him. “Come sit.”

Dimitri does, hesitantly. He picks his way as if he’s a timid child and not a man who’s hulking figure stands over six feet. He sits at the edge of the bed, near Felix’s calves. His eye is pointedly looking at the wall. Felix glances to it and sees some sort of landscape painting he thinks might be somewhere along the coast. He doesn’t look at it long before turning back to Dimitri.

“Have you seen Sylvain yet?” he asks.

Dimitri glances over before looking to his lap where his free hand is. “Yes. He is very distraught over Chastity.”

 _Chastity_. Felix had forgotten that was the damned mare’s name. He had been told it once, years ago, when the Margrave had sent Sylvain south to see how the Fraldarius’ were holding the line with the Dukedom. He had just stared when Sylvain had told him, giving him a lavish wink when he had. Ingrid had named her. That’s what Sylvain had said. She had been in Gautier before Sylvain had left and Sylvain hadn’t given his mare a name yet.

Felix exhales. “I can’t blame him.”

“His leg is set to heal cleanly, though,” says Dimitri. “Everyone else suffered some minor injuries, but for the most part we came through on the other side.”

Felix nods. “Annette said Lorenz is whining about a scar.”

Dimitri huffs a small laugh. “I saw it when I was with Claude earlier. It’s a small nick through his eyebrow. He insists it marrs his handsome face.”

“Saints above,” Felix sighs, rolling his eyes again. “There are moments where I know he’s gotten better than he used to be, but sometimes the pompous prick he was at the Academy rears its face again and I want to stab him.”

“Felix.” Dimitri’s reprimand falls short, since he sounds too amused to sound serious. “He is a valuable ally. You shouldn’t stab him.”

“I never have,” Felix says. “He never wanted to train with me.” He sighs, lifting an arm to push hair that had fallen loose of the braid back behind his ear. “I suppose he never will now.”

Dimitri smiles, a small smile that makes Felix’s heart clench. “You will have plenty of people wanting to spar when we return to Fhirdiad.” He blinks, and speaks before Felix can. “Or when you return to Fraldarius, I mean. I suppose no matter what you choose, you will—”

Felix leans forward while Dimitri babbles, ignoring the throbbing in his stomach as he does so. Dimitri is looking at that painting again, his right eye, hidden by the patch, on the side that’s facing Felix. He doesn’t notice, but he stops short when Felix grabs his hand, startling into silence. He looks down, staring as Felix’s fingers drag across his palm. 

“Shut _up_ , Dimitri.”

Heat is filling Felix’s face, but it’s outdone by the burning feeling of him pulling wrong on his stitches. He gets a grip on Dimitri’s hand and falls back against the pillows, tugging Dimitri with him. The prince sprawls slightly before he huffs a laugh, scooting forward so he can sit at Felix’s hip.

No words pass between them as Felix laces their fingers together. It is much like the night his father died, all those months ago in Fhirdiad. He refuses to look at Dimitri, glancing to the far wall where curtains are drawn over a window. He wants those things open, to see what the vantage view might be of Enbarr, but he doesn’t dare voice it. 

“It’s over,” he murmurs, after a long while.

“Yes,” says Dimitri. “But there is still much to be done.”

Felix hums an agreement. “That seems to always be the case.” He’s not looking forward to it. Paperwork and treatises and all the other political nonsense they would have to deal with once they were back in Fhirdiad. He wasn’t suited for that kind of life—he was far better as a sword than as Duke Fraldarius. It was the better way to keep his friends safe. Having a tongue as sharp as his blade had always been a detriment.

They have plenty of work ahead. He doubts they’ll have a moment to breathe for years. Regardless of how he feels, he knows that’s not what Dimitri wants or needs to hear. Felix takes in a breath, his thumb lightly brushing across Dimitri’s skin as heat bursts across his face. He steadfastly looks away as he speaks, his voice quiet. 

“The worst is done, though.”

Dimitri sighs a breath and when Felix glances at him, he’s staring at their hands, pink dusting his own cheeks, matching the blush that must be on Felix’s face. “The worst is done,” he agrees, softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully no one’s too mad at me for skimming over those battles, i just felt like this would be far too clunky if i added them in. also if there’s any like, glaringly obvious errors, it’s bc i kinda rushed this edit and have no beta, but we're over halfway there now!
> 
> you can come find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616) if you want!


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final ‘Final Battle.’

Upon their return to the monastery, the armies are met with fanfare and celebrations. Sylvain’s leg is healing quickly enough—he had gotten out of his cast within the first week, and Mercedes’ insistence that he ride back in the cart with her rather than on horseback has aided him in barely having a limp when he walks. Dimitri’s arm remains in its sling. The dagger had torn through muscle. Their first night back, when Felix asks after it, Dimitri’s face had turned red and he had glanced away, mumbling about how it would heal fine, just that there was lingering numbness.

They’ve just finished eating dinner, and Dimitri’s eye stares at his empty plate. Felix’s gaze narrows, just slightly.

“So you can’t feel it,” Felix states.

“I can!” Dimitri protests, his eye going wide slightly. His face is still red. Felix just lifts an eyebrow. “It’s just—just not _full_ feeling. I shall be fine, though! It wouldn’t impede my fighting.”

“You wield a lance with two hands, Dimitri.”

Before Dimitri can protest that, Claude appears. The set of his jaw makes Felix’s hand itch for his sword. It’s a familiar face, one that he knows means something’s wrong. “I need you two in the council room,” he murmurs.

“What’s happened?” asks Felix.

Claude shakes his head. “We’ll discuss it upstairs. Is Dedue with Ashe in the greenhouse?”

“I believe so,” says Dimitri. 

Claude nods, moving around their table to head to the doors closest to the greenhouse. Felix watches him go with dread growing in his stomach. 

“The missive,” Dimitri murmurs.

Felix looks over sharply. “The what?” 

Dimitri shakes his head, pushing his chair back. “I’ll explain on the way.”

Felix grabs their plates, his scowl firmly in place. He ignores Dimitri’s mild protest, then his thanks, and all but marches their plates to the staff working behind the counter before whirling on his heels. Dimitri had followed him, and Felix jerks his chin towards the doors leading to the gardens. 

Dimitri’s explanation is quick, and quiet, as they walk with hurried steps through the monastery. Claude had pulled him away after the battle in Enbarr, once they were certain the worst injured were Felix and Sylvain. Hubert had had a backup plan if Edelgard fell. That’s all Dimitri knew, because that’s all he had cared _to_ know. It wasn’t an immediate threat, so he hadn’t prioritized it. Dimitri had been too busy being concerned over his friends that were bedridden to deal with hypothetical enemies. 

“It appears it might not be hypothetical afterall,” he says. 

They are not the first in the room. The council table is full of their closest generals. The professor stands at the head, gesturing for the two of them to take seats. Sylvain’s slumped in his chair, and Felix sits beside him, Dimitri on his right near the head of the table. 

“How’s your leg?” asks Felix.

Sylvain bounces his knee, smiling. It’s one of his forced ones, that Felix frowns at, but doesn’t comment on. “It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt too bad. I’ve had worse. Chastity wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, even in her death.”

Felix has never bonded with a horse, or a wyvern or pegasus, enough to say that’s how their bonds work. He’s certain if he had a spear in his throat, though, and was conscious enough to try to save his friends before succumbing to death, he would. He nods silently, just to assure Sylvain that he believes him enough to drop the topic. 

The last in the rooms are Hilda and Marianne, who are shuffled in with Claude’s arms motioning them in. As soon as they’re seated, he shuts the doors behind him and walks to the head of the table. Professor Byleth nods at him and he clears his throat before turning to address them.

“It’s not done yet, my friends.”

Everyone at the council table is quiet as Claude and Byleth speak. The army has barely returned to the monastery from Enbarr. They were set on recuperating before most leave for Faerghus and the rest for Derdriu. Instead, Hubert had planned an ending in which Adrestia fell. 

The people Edelgard had been working with, the ones he had so kindly named _Those Who Slither in the Dark_ , were responsible for far too much pain throughout the land to not be taken care of. Their war wasn’t done yet.

Lysithea, a few chairs down from Felix, sets her jaw in determination as she says, “These people are monsters. They experiment on children for their own means. I always thought it might be possible they did the same things to Edelgard that they did to my siblings and me."

Claude nods. “Hubert didn’t say as much, but I have my own suspicions. They're the ones responsible for what happened at Merceus, too."

The assumption is that there’s a stronghold, possibly their only stronghold, in Hyrm territory. The next battle, hopefully the last of this war, will take place where these people are. 

“A lot of us are still recovering,” Claude says, “but I know this is a fight we need to handle.”

“The Kingdom is more than ready to fight for this cause, Claude,” Dimitri states.

“Not you,” says Felix, quickly. “Your injury can’t afford you to go into a battle so soon.”

Dimitri blinks at him, his jaw tense. “I can fight.”

“Not forty minutes ago, you told me you couldn’t feel your hand.”

Felix recognises the expression on Dimitri’s face. Felix braces himself for a fight. Instead, Byleth claps their hands.

“I am not asking you, or Felix, or Sylvain to join this battle,” they say. “In fact, I am forbidding it.”

 _“What_?” asks Felix.

“My leg is fine, Professor,” says Sylvain. “I mean, if you’re gonna put your foot down, fine, but I can fight. Felix is in the best shape out of all of us, too.”

Byleth shakes their head. “I would rather not risk it.”

“Our forces will be fine without you three, don’t worry,” says Claude.

“They’re right. You three need to recover,” Ingrid agrees. “We won’t let you down.”

“I’ve been stabbed before,” Felix argues, but Byleth just gives them a look.

He fumes, but he fumes silently. Dimitri’s stress is obvious, but he relents, as well. 

Planning for the march on _those who slither in the dark_ takes exactly nine days. Dimitri is insistent that he can fight, Felix a half-step behind him when he goes to the professor. Byleth’s resolve is too strong for them to cave to Felix’s demands and Dimitri’s pleas. 

The only ones out of them that have been benched that _aren’t_ complaining are Sylvain, and Lorenz, who’s stayed behind for reasons Felix didn't ask about, but has been informed are due to Alliance paperwork. He avoids the greenhouse and gardens so he won’t accidentally run into him. 

Days after the others have marched to Hyrm, Felix stands in the training grounds. The skin on his stomach feels tight whenever he goes through his forms, but the wound has healed. The scar itself is an ugly thing, one of the bigger ones he has, but he pays it no mind. The more he trains, the less he’ll have to deal with the scar tissue being too new and shiny. 

When the doors to the training grounds creak open, Felix expects it to be Sylvain. He’s been decidedly _clingy_ since the others have gone. If he’s not with Dimitri, wandering around trying to help where they can, he’s bothering Felix. He refuses to _spar_ , but he’ll sit and whine about Felix not paying enough attention to him.

He turns on his heels, lifting his training blade, mouth parting to tell Sylvain to pick up a lance or leave, but his jaw clicks shut as the person shuffles forward. 

It’s not Sylvain. 

“Good afternoon, Felix,” Dimitri greets, a small smile on his face. “I thought I might find you here.”

Dimitri looks better than he had when the others had marched. His arm is out of the sling, his shoulder fine, and he insists he can feel all his fingers when asked. Felix doesn’t quite believe him, but he’s decided it’s not his problem if the future King of Faerghus is already lying to his subjects. 

Felix flicks his eyes in a roll at Dimitri’s greeting, turning back to the training dummies. “Everyone knows they can find me here. Where’s Sylvain?”

“Oh, he’s having tea with Lorenz.”

Felix pauses. He looks over his shoulder. Dimitri chuckles at the disbelief on his face. “Lorenz is not a bad man, Felix.”

“I never said he was.” Felix lifts his weapon. “I would just rather deal with anyone else from the Alliance first.”

He hears Dimitri huff a small breath. There’s the sounds of his footsteps approaching, and Felix braces himself as he swings. 

“Felix, may we talk?” 

He scowls, glancing over his shoulder. “Talk. I can listen and go through drills.”

Dimitri gives him a look, his eye imploring. Felix sighs, moving away from the dummies to the rack where he sets the training sword back in its place. Dimitri follows him like a lost puppy, sitting on the raised step, his eye still holding far too many emotions for Felix to want this conversation to happen.

Instead of sitting beside him, Felix leans against a column, crossing his arms over his chest and hooking his ankle over the other. He stares down at Dimitri before flicking his eyes away to look over the empty grounds. 

“Talk,” he states.

“Ah, right to the point—”

 _“Dimitri._ ” 

A chuckle falls from his lips, though it sounds nervous. Felix brings his eyes back, peering at him. Dimitri’s looking at his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. Felix can see the side of his face, the nervous flick of his tongue across his lips. 

Felix forces his eyes away before he thinks too deeply about Dimitri’s lips. He refuses. 

It takes Dimitri another moment to pick his words. “I would not ask you to do anything you do not wish.”

He snorts in response. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I just—. I am aware of what you think must happen. What path you must take.” He sees Dimitri turn to face him, though he keeps his own eyes ahead, away from him. “I know that you see only one path for your future.”

“Oh, do I?” Felix asks, tone sardonic. “I didn’t realise you could hear my thoughts now.”

“Felix,” pleads Dimitri. “Listen, please.”

“Fine. What do you think I think?”

“I—.” He sighs, shaking his head. “I _think_ you believe you must return to Fhirdiad with me and the others.” 

Felix’s shoulders tense. He presses his lips in a thin line so he won’t interrupt.

“I understand that you are now Duke Fraldarius, and that the Duke of Fraldarius has been the King’s right hand for generations. I know that you foresee our future as you being an advisor—and I would love nothing more! But I do not want you to think you will be forced to do anything you do not wish to.”

He takes in a breath, remembering a conversation he had held with the professor, nearly half a year ago. _‘You don’t have to stay, if you don’t want to, but I am glad for your support.’_

“You have always seemed so adamant about following your own path,” Dimitri continues. “I would never wish to stop you from following whatever you think is best for you.”

There is a moment’s pause, between where Dimitri finishes speaking, and Felix looks at him.

“Are you finished?” he asks. 

Dimitri blinks. Then nods. “Yes.”

“Good.” Felix turns away from him, going to the training racks. 

“Felix, wa—.” He cuts himself off with a startled noise as Felix tosses a wooden lance at him.

“Get up,” he says. “We’re sparring.”

Dimitri sits there, blinking at Felix, before a small smile tilts his lips. “Oh. Here I had thought you didn’t want me _injuring myself_ more.”

“Shut up.” His lips twist as he scowls. “Spar with me.”

“I would like to finish talking before—”

He lifts the lance to block Felix’s jab. A look of exasperation overcomes him as he sighs. 

“Fine. I suppose we can finish talking once we’re done.”

Felix’s lips curl in a small smirk. “Now you’re getting it.”

The spar goes poorly for Felix. He’s fast and a good fighter, but Dimitri has bulk and height on him. He isn’t placing any holds on his strength, either. As soon as Dimitri’s lance has snapped Felix’s sword clean in two, Felix shifts, throwing all his bodyweight forward. He manages to twist the lance out of Dimitri’s grasp, his own weight counteracting his balance as he tries to stop himself from tripping over Felix. 

Dimitri falls to his back, huffing a small, breathless laugh when his shoulders hit the ground. Felix is out of breath, his eyes narrowed as he stares down at Dimitri. 

“Did you let me trip you?” he demands. 

“Why would I do that, Felix?” 

“Because you want your stupid answer,” spits Felix. He stabs the lance into the ground, leaning against it. “You don’t understand anything, do you?” 

“Well, when you speak so plainly, I don’t see how I could struggle in the slightest.”

Felix cuts a glare at him. Dimitri’s smile is teasing. He huffs and looks away.

“We all have choices,” he says, “between duty and desire.”

“I cannot help but agree,” says Dimitri. “That is why I—”

 _“All_ of us, Dimitri,” Felix states. “We all do.”

Dimitri’s lips are turning into a frown. He’s pushed himself onto his elbows, but is still lounging on the ground. Felix’s hand flexes against the lance before he releases it, sighing a breath. He reaches down to offer his hand to Dimitri.

“You do, too. You don’t need to follow anything that’s set for you.”

Dimitri takes his hand, pulling himself to his feet. “I fear no one would be pleased if I decided I did not want to be King of Faerghus.”

“No one could stop you from leaving,” Felix insists. “If you wanted.”

He smiles. “Fortunately enough, I do want to stay. I want to help restore Faerghus—and help the Alliance restore the rest of Fódlan.”

“Hmph.” Felix tilts his head up, shading his eyes as he glances at the sky. It’s late enough in the afternoon that he could reasonably take a bath and then go to dinner. "Fine, then."

"Fine?" Dimitri questions.

“I’ll give you my answer once this is all done,” he says. "Once this war is officially over."

Dimitri gives him a long, searching look. Felix endures the eye contact, but when Dimitri's lips twitch in a fond smile, he looks away.

"I suppose that is fair."

**.**

The underground city of Shambhala was _baffling_ , according to Ingrid. She tells them all about the battle, all about the entire civilization under the mountains in Hyrm, over dinner the night they return. The dining hall is packed full. They’ve managed to sequester the end of a table, Ashe and Dedue providing a barrier between them and Hilda’s loud comments about Ignatz’s newest painting. Felix listens intently to Ingrid between her bites of food, his eyes straying to Lysithea, who had returned looking fiercely vindicated earlier, but now sits eating cakes with Annette and Mercedes a few tables away.

“Claude and the professor are an amazing team,” Ingrid gushes. “And Lady Judith! You should have seen her! I stayed close, as her air support, and it was the best battle I’ve been in.”

Sylvain laughs, leaning back against his chair, stretching his arms over his head. “At least with those creeps taken care of, we’re free to head back home, right, Your Highness?” He pauses when he doesn’t get an answer, glancing over to Dimitri. Felix follows his gaze.

Dimitri is frowning, his food still only half touched. Felix doesn’t like the look in his eye. It’s a faraway one. He’s gotten migraines throughout the past few months, and those migraines always seem to exacerbate the voices he hears. They quieted after Enbarr. Felix wasn’t foolish enough to think they were gone for good, but he still had hoped.

“Your Highness?” Ingrid tries.

Still no response.

Felix lifts his foot, nudging Dimitri’s knee under the table. “Dimitri.” 

That startles him into looking up. He looks at all of them, expression growing sheepish. “I apologise. My thoughts were elsewhere.”

“Are you already overthinking our return to Fhirdiad?” asks Sylvain.

“Am I overthinking. . .?” Dimitri’s brows furrow. He frowns at Sylvain. “No, Sylvain. I am not overthinking things.”

“You normally do,” states Felix. 

Sylvain grins. “See? I’m not the only one that knows. What’s on your mind?”

Dimitri shakes his head. “I just. . .do not have a feeling things are actually done.”

“It’ll be hard to adjust to,” says Ingrid. 

Felix’s eyes dart away as Sylvain chimes in his own agreements. The doors to the dining hall have opened, and Felix sees a messenger rush in. They head straight for Claude, who’s sitting between Raphael and Lorenz. 

Dimitri is watching, too. Felix can see him out of the corner of his eyes. 

Felix rises to his feet as he watches Claude break the seal.

Sylvain makes a noise. “Fe?” 

“Hold on,” he says. 

He pins Dimitri with a look and the prince settles back with a small nod. He walks to the other end of the hall and Claude glances up when he approaches. Lorenz is leaning over his shoulder to read the message. Whatever’s written down makes the blood drain from his face, his eyes widening. Claude’s own face draws tight, brows furrowing as his jaw tenses. 

“What’s the news?” 

“Bad,” Claude says, not mincing his words. “Very, very bad.”

The mood of celebrations depletes as soon as he speaks. Felix turns, and Dimitri’s already on his feet, walking over. Claude carefully rolls the message up, taking in a deep breath before sighing it out. He looks to Felix, then over his shoulder when Dimitri arrives, his frown deep.

“We may very well have another final battle on our hands.”

“What’s happened?” 

_What’s happened_ , according to the message, is there is a beast claiming to be Nemesis, King of Liberation, risen from the grave. The countryside that’s already been ravaged by the war has been torn to shreds and lit ablaze. 

“We need to move, quickly,” states Claude the next morning, leaning over a map. It’s obvious that he, Dimitri, and the professor have all been awake far too long, plotting and planning. “Nemesis—or whoever this guy actually is—doesn’t seem to give a damn about civilians or those who have already been involved in the war.”

“Whoever they are, they’re on a revenge trail,” Dimitri says. “It is something I know well enough.”

Byleth makes a soft, murmured noise as their finger trails across the map Claude’s holding flat. “Based on the current path that it appears they’re taking, we’ll meet them on the Tailtean Plains if we move out soon.”

“How soon do we need to?” asks Dedue. “We still need time to prepare.”

“Unfortunately, time isn’t on our side.” Claude straightens, just slightly. “I need everyone to gather what they can today. We march at dawn.”

 _“Dawn_?” Hilda asks. “Tomorrow dawn? We need to make sure our weapons are ready!” 

“That’s what today is for,” states Byleth. “We’ll be ready. We have each other. We will end this.”

“ _This_ will be our final, final battle,” Claude says. “Finally. Let’s give it our all out there!”

**.**

The Tailtean Plains are covered in a mist that tells them easily enough this will not be a straightforward battle. Felix’s eyes scan the fields. Nemesis, the King of Liberation, is waiting on the other side, past the swamp waters that have covered what should have been plains. There are soldiers positioned at the ready, their faces pale and sunken, but somewhat familiar.

The sun shines across the field and he hears the wings of Ingrid’s pegasus wings as she lowers herself to report to Dimitri. Sylvain reaches to pat his new steed’s neck as he tugs the reins. There’s unease in the air. None of them are quite prepared to make the first move.

“There’s some sort of. . .shield, around Nemesis,” she says. “Claude thinks one of the mages on the field is controlling it.”

“There seems to be ten commanders,” Dimitri says.

“The Ten Elites,” states Sylvain. “Maybe one of them is controlling the shield protecting Nemesis.”

“Either way,” calls Claude, from above them, “we need to take all ten out.”

“But that mist has to be dangerous,” Mercedes says. “We’ll have to be careful.”

“Stick together,” says Felix. “Don’t fight on your own.”

“Could they really be _the_ Ten Elites?” Ashe asks, voice airy. “That doesn’t—. That can’t be, can it?”

“It very well could,” Dimitri answers, tone solemn. “Nemesis is here, obviously brought back by whatever magic transformed Edelgard into that—that beast.”

“We can face them,” Annette says, determined. “We’re ready.”

“We wait for the professor’s signal,” states Dimitri, nodding.

The signal comes moments later. Everyone has their orders. Felix stays with Dimitri as they make their way into the thick of the field.

It would never cease to impress Felix how quickly the switch could be flipped for Dimitri. They fight seamlessly together, but Dimitri’s way of fighting isn’t tactful, or darting about to cut down enemies. He moves like a tidal wave, Areadbhar glowing as he uses his lance to fell down enemies. 

They pick their way through the swamp water and mist, trying to stick to areas of clearer air.

The swamp water and mist suddenly lift as Dimitri pulls Areadbhar out of what had to have been his own, undead ancestor. He hears the distant, familiar cheer of, “ _Hilda! Hilda!_ ” It’s something he hasn’t heard since their academy days and when he looks across the field, he sees Hilda and Annette cheerfully bouncing near where a gremory had been.

Dimitri lets out a soft, disbelieving huff. He pushes his hair from his face. “Well, that handles that. Down to six?” 

“Down to six,” says Felix. He turns towards the one that seems too achingly familiar to be someone other than a Fraldarius. “Let’s make it five.”

There’s plenty of enemies in between them and the Falcon Knight. Felix is determined, though, moving on ahead, knowing for a fact Dimitri is only a few steps behind him. He refuses to let anyone else take the knight down. If she _is_ actually a Fraldarius, it’s his responsibility to handle her.

He hears Dimitri make a choked noise and the blood in his veins freezes at the sound. He whirls, to see a stray arrow sticking through his recently healed shoulder. 

“Fuck,” he hisses. 

Dimitri looks up, shaking his head. “It’s alright,” he manages, voice tight. “I’ve had worse.”

“Obviously, but— _what are you doing?!”_

His voice hitches into a shout as Dimitri grabs the arrow’s end—and rips the arrow straight out of his shoulder. He makes another noise, but looks up, forcing a smile on his face as Felix feels his own twist into a scowl.

 _“We have talked about this, Dimitri!_ ” he shouts.

“I’ll be fine. We must keep moving.”

“We are _not_ done talking about this!” he snaps, but he turns to lift his blade. 

Without the mist and swamp, they make their way to the next Elite quicker than they had previously been moving. She hovers in the air on a pegasus, lance at the ready. Felix recognises the crest bursts from her far too well for him to identify her as anything but a Fraldarius. She’s not by herself, a small battalion close by her side. Felix sets his jaw as he raises his sword, readying himself. 

It’s not an easy fight—not that he expected it to be. He’s at a disadvantage, but it doesn’t take long for a javelin to cut through her pegasus and force her to fight on her own feet. Her battalion is picked away by Dimitri, leaving him to face the Elite on his own. His blood is roaring in his ears, heart pounding in his chest with adrenaline. 

A Ragnarok spell hits the man a few feet away from the woman Felix is facing. He doesn’t need to look to know it’s Sylvain, but as he slices his possibly, redead ancestor down he feels the familiar warmth of a healing spell wash over him.

“That makes five,” calls Sylvain.

“Four!” an unexpected voice calls. 

Felix looks up as he pulls his sword from the body. Marianne sits on the saddle behind Sylvain, pointing towards where Ingrid and Ashe have finished off a Holy Knight, another Elite a few paces away.

It doesn’t take long for the other four to be taken care of. They’re still making their way towards Nemesis when the shimmering shield falters, then collapses. Byleth and Claude are the ones closest to the King of Liberation. 

Byleth grips the Sword of the Creator in hand, and rushes forward. 

Dimitri grips Felix’s arm before he stands a chance at moving forward. Claude and Byleth fight alongside one another, seeming to be _alright_ , but neither making progress. Felix’s jaw sets, his teeth grinding down. He understands why Dimitri stills him, but it’s impossible not to feel useless as he watches Nemesis’ blade slice through another one of Claude’s arrows. 

Claude fires an arrow from Failnaught up, into the sky. Felix tries to track it’s movements, but his eyes snap back to Claude, watching as he _rushes forward_. Nemesis basically smacks him, and it sends Claude flying back, thudding against the ground, but even from the distance, Felix can see him _smirking_.

Byleth dashes forward. Felix follows the movement; Dimitri’s hand tightens on his arm. He looks over and sees Dimitri’s chin tilted up. 

Felix sees the arrow just before it makes an impact.

There’s a guttural scream from Nemesis as the Sword of the Creator finds its mark and the King of Liberation falls to the ground. 

Felix’s body is thrumming. His blood pumps adrenaline through his veins. The hand not on the hilt of his sword curls into a fist. 

It’s hard for his brain to process the quiet for a moment. The _end_ of the battle. The plains are silent as Byleth reaches a hand out to Claude. He takes it, pulling himself up, and the two walk towards them. He hears Dimitri let out a shuddering exhale. 

“It’s over,” Sylvain breathes, sliding from the saddle of his horse and helping Marianne down. “It’s actually over, right?” His voice wavers, just slightly. Felix swallows the tightness in his throat. 

Claude’s unaffected. He grins, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he reaches them, holding a hand out to Dimitri. It’s only then that Dimitri seems to remember he’s still gripping Felix, and releases him. 

“This is the beginning of Fódlan’s new dawn, my friends,” Claude declares.

Dimitri lets out a quavering laugh, clasping Claude’s hand in his own. “So it is.”

He has no idea who lets out the first _whoop_ —though he has his suspicions it’s Rapheal—but the plains errupt into cheers as soon as it has finished echoing off the fields around them. Felix tilts his head back, his lips curling upwards despite himself, and he sheathes his sword just before Sylvain gets an arm around his neck, pulling him and Ingrid in for tight hugs. 

He protests, but it’s nothing more than a grumble as his face is pressed against Sylvain’s shoulder. A weight presses against his back, and it takes him a moment to realise Dimitri’s joined their group hug. They stand like that for only a moment before they break apart. 

Felix doesn’t even have time to right himself, to stop the burning in his cheeks. Arms are thrown around him and he’s met with a mouthful of bright pink hair as Hilda slams against his chest, followed by Lysithea and Marianne. It feels like a game of being passed around. Felix can’t find it in himself to mind too much. The burning at the back of his eyes goes ignored as he tries to blink his vision clear. He’s hugged by almost everyone. Raphael lifts him off his feet, and when he’s set down, Sylvain is the man’s next victim. Annette and Mercedes are crying happy tears, clinging to one another a few steps away, their voices blubbering as they try to communicate. Annette spots him as she wipes the back of her hand across her eyes and she waves him over, her pout too severe for Felix to feel safe in refusing. 

He’s not sure how, but he ends up back underneath Sylvain’s arm, Dimitri beside him. Sylvain’s hand is digging into the fur of Dimitri’s cloak, as if that’s the only reason his side is seamed against Felix’s. 

“We are so breaking into the alcohol stores when we get back to the monastery,” Sylvain declares.

“I think it would be rude to break into a church’s stash of wine,” says Dimitri. 

His arm winds around Felix’s waist. Felix does not know how to react besides to stay still and not speak.

“Hey, Professor!” Sylvain calls. Felix looks up just in time to see Byleth’s eyes sweep over them. They land on Felix, head tilting, before looking to Sylvain and lifting an eyebrow. “Can we have the stashed wine when we’re back at the monastery?”

Byleth shrugs. It’s basically a yes. Sylvain presses his body weight into Felix, which in turn presses him into Dimitri, and _Goddess_ his face is on fire. Sylvain, luckily, isn’t paying attention. He’s too busy celebrating the fact that they’ve gotten permission from the head of the church to go through the alcohol that’s been there for who knows how long.

“Perhaps one drink,” says Dimitri. “Felix? What do you think?”

“Perhaps one bottle,” Felix chokes.

“Oh, buddy, we are going to do a lot more damage than just _one bottle_ ,” Sylvain says, and releases him. “Ingrid! _Hey, Ingrid_!” 

Dimitri’s arm is still around his waist as Sylvain hurriedly rushes across the battlefield to Ingrid, waving his arms overhead to garner her attention. Felix lets out a shaking breath.

Perhaps it’s not the worst thing in the world for him to enjoy this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there’s two more actual chapters left, and then a short epilogue planned for chapter nine. thank you for reading this far!
> 
> i'm on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616)


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While their collective armies rejoice in their victory, Claude makes an announcement.

The dining hall is lit by candle light, casting the room in a warm glow. The table they’re all clustered around is packed, bottles of wine and ale scattered about it. Dimitri, Claude, and Byleth were the only ones who opted against participating too deeply in their drinking celebrations. Dimitri had had one glass before Claude had dragged him away, Byleth following. 

Felix had followed the three of them with his gaze, a frown on his face, but had accepted the mug of ale Leonie had forced upon him when Sylvain clapped him on the shoulder. 

It had been the only drink Felix had had of the night. The others had teased him for it, but Felix can say for a fact that it was far more amusing to watch them drink themselves drunk while sober than it would’ve been if he himself was drunk. 

He’s not the only one who’s been limiting himself, though. Some of the others have already peeled off, heading to bed. Lysithea and Ignatz had been the first ones to call it quits. Lysithea had forced herself to drink through an entire glass of wine, her face scrunched up in displeasure every time she took a sip. Lorenz had taken pity on her and said that he had tea he could prepare for them, and Ignatz had decided he was going to spend the rest of his evening painting in his room.

Mercedes and Annette were led away by Dedue, both too giggly to walk properly. As soon as Dedue had gone, Ashe had taken one last drink before bowing out and following after to make sure he didn’t need help getting Annette and Mercedes safely to their dorms. Marianne and Hilda were whispering to one another at the end of the table, one bottle of sweet wine between them only halfway gone. Sylvain’s half slumped on the table at Felix’s elbow, snoring loudly. Leonie and Raphael are far too frighteningly good at putting back alcohol for Felix to want to stay any longer, but Ingrid seems determined to try to win this ridiculous contest, despite her face being flushed down to her neck. 

Leonie lifts her mug of ale when Felix rises to his feet from the table.

“Leaving already, Fraldarius?” 

“I have something to do,” he tells her.

Ingrid makes a noise, trying to grab him and almost falls off the bench. Felix rights her with a put upon sigh, hands on her shoulders as he steadies her.

“You should go get some sleep.”

Ingrid’s head shakes, her hair swishing about her ears, strands loose from her usual braid. “No, I can win,” she says—or tries to. Her words are slurred beyond recognition, but Felix understands. Felix rolls his eyes, fixing Leonie with a look.

“You’re going to kill her.”

“Aw, she’s fine! She wants to impress Judith, and drinking with Judith is the easiest way to do that.”

“Judith isn’t even _here_ ,” Felix protests, but Leonie just slams her drink back before Felix can argue that Ingrid’s already made a good impression on her. He huffs a breath and reaches over to shake Sylvain awake. He groans and protests, but Felix manages to get him to his feet, taking most of his weight as he leads him to the second floor dorms.

Sylvain alternates between singing what he’s saying, and humming off-key as they stumble up the stairs, and if Felix had even a sliver of less patience, Sylvain would’ve been dumped on the steps and left to sleep there by himself. He stifles his sigh of anger as he hefts Sylvain’s arm tighter around his shoulders.

“You are so lucky I’m doing this, Gautier,” he hisses.

“ _Fee_ -lix,” Sylvain whines, hiccuping a breath after. “I know you love us all. You’re gonna go back for Ingy, yeah?”

“No,” states Felix. “She’s still conscious. Leonie can help get her to her dorm.”

Sylvain makes a mumbled noise, that sounds too close to a name for Felix’s liking. His shoulders tense and he’s almost tempted to dump Sylvain onto the ground in the middle of the dormitory hallway.

“What?”

“Where’s Dima?” he repeats. “Where’d he run off to?”

Felix’s lips press together. “I don’t know. Claude dragged him off earlier. You were still sober for that part.”

“You gonna go find _him_?” questions Sylvain, with an attempt at waggling his eyebrows that makes him stumble a step.

“Shut up,” Felix answers. “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain agrees easily. “I’m sleepy.”

Felix’s eyes roll as Sylvain’s feet all but drag across the stone. “You’re too fucking heavy for me to do this, Sylvain. Walk or I’m leaving you here in the corridor.” 

Sylvain’s head tilts, landing on Felix’s with a resounding _thunk_ that makes Felix wince. Sylvain doesn’t even seem to notice the weight of the hit, just whines a long, overdramatically drawn-out, “ _Noo_.”

The last few feet to Sylvain’s door are definitely not worth this. Felix turns them at his door, bumping it open and half-dragging, half-leading Sylvain into his room. It doesn’t take much for Sylvain to flop forward onto the bed. Felix lifts his legs up onto the mattress, but Sylvain doesn’t even stay awake long enough to thank him.

Felix leaves him snoring on his bed, heading back out into the monastery. 

Without Sylvain weighing him down, Felix can take in the night easier. It’s quiet, a chill lacing through the monastery grounds in the form of the wind. It’s only the beginning of the Horsebow Moon, but the breeze promises winter sooner, rather than later. There’s no clouds overhead, leaving the stars and moonlight to shine, which help the lantern-lit path Felix takes as he cuts through the grounds. His pace is easy, the path one he’s taken practically thousands of times in his time within the monastery’s walls. He already has an idea of where Dimitri is.

The rest of the monastery is all but deserted. It’s late enough at night that Felix doesn’t cross another soul as he walks up the stairs to the second floor of offices. Seteth’s office door is shut when Felix passes by it, but he can see the light dancing under the doorway. Felix leaves it alone—he knows Seteth has too much to do to make sure Byleth’s transition to the Archbishop position goes smoothly amongst the current rule set the church has. 

Besides, Seteth isn’t who Felix is aiming to find.

His boots’ heels clicking across stone slows as he finally reaches his destination. The Cardinals’ Room is much as it had been the day they had left for the Tailtean Plains. The war council table is full of papers and books and maps. Candles and lanterns are lit, leaving the room in a soft glow. There’s a lone figure at the end of the table, slumped over as he pours over reports and missives. Dimitri’s cloak is carefully draped over the back of the chair he’s sitting in, and he rests his chin on his fist, his other hand holding a paper as his eye drifts over whatever’s written down.

He doesn’t look up as Felix stops in the doorway. That makes Felix frown, arms crossing over his chest as he leans against the doorframe.

“You’re working too hard.”

Dimitri glances up from the table, smiling slightly when Felix walks in. “It isn’t that late, is it?”

Felix quirks a brow, coming around the end of the table to stop at Dimitri’s side. “I just had to drag Sylvain back to _my_ room because he drank so much he fell asleep at the table.”

The noise Dimitri makes is nowhere near elegant. The snort seems to surprise him as much as it surprises Felix, and he quickly brings a hand to cover his mouth, but Felix can see the scrunch of his cheeks as he tries to hide his grin. “I see.”

“Why are you up here by yourself?”

“Ah, the professor was pulled away by Seteth. There was some sort of urgent document that they needed to take care of before they can officially be named Archbishop.” Dimitri waves his hand as he speaks, brushing off the fact that this mess of maps and treaty drafts that are _supposed_ to be the three of theirs have all been dumped on his plate. “Claude said he had to go check on something, but I suppose that was a while ago now.”

“So, he left you to deal with the paperwork.”

“We are not making any solid decisions right now,” says Dimitri, voice holding a slight protest. “It’s just. . .idea planning.”

“Idea planning,” Felix repeats, unimpressed.

Dimitri’s lips curl again, his smile small and tired. “I cannot do much until the coronation, I fear. Claude is truly the only one with an official signature.”

Felix looks down, glancing over the maps spread before Dimitri. The maps scattered about are the ones where they’ve been trying to decide the best divisions of former Empire territories. There’s proposed borders lining throughout the country of Fódlan, divisions that spread the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Leicester Alliance further west than either had ever been before.

“It would do well for us to get some decent soil,” says Felix.

Dimitri follows his eyes, before sighing a soft breath. “I thought the same. Faerghus will always be _Faerghus_ , but if the Holy Kingdom can spread its borders, it might be best.”

“Mmn.” Felix’s eyes trace the lines of the map. It’s nothing set in stone, but it might work. 

He doubts the people living in Adrestia’s territory would agree with him.

The silence is broken only by the tiny sounds of small crackling from the fires in the lanterns. Felix’s hands curl at his sides before he relaxes them, forcing himself to speak.

“You asked what I would do, after the war.” 

Dimitri gives a ragged sounding laugh. “I did,” his voice is as soft as the look in his eye when he gazes up at Felix. “Do you have an answer?”

Felix feels himself fluster under that stare. He looks away, clearing his throat. He leans over the table, dragging his hands to place on the map, trying to force himself further from Dimitri’s eye, but it just serves to push him closer. “I suppose—.”

“Alright, Your Royalness, don’t you worry, I’ve returned!” Claude sweeps into the doorway, before stopping short, his eyes landing on Felix as he hastily straightens. “Oh.”

His eyes glance between Felix and Dimitri, and the look in his gaze makes Felix’s body tense. His arms reflexively cross over his chest as he struggles to fight the heat filling his face. He doesn’t like the way Claude’s lips twitched into a smirk, obviously seeing the blush colouring Felix’s face. 

“I see you’ve lost to Leonie,” says Claude.

Felix glares, lips twisting into a scowl.

“Welcome back, Claude,” Dimitri greets, as if it’s not the middle of the night. 

As if Claude isn’t staring at them like he _knows_. 

Which would be impossible. Because _Felix_ doesn’t know—or, at least, he’s not acknowledging things—so there was no way on Sothis’ green earth that _Claude_ could have parsed what was going on. 

“What a warm welcome,” Claude drawls. He pulls a rolled up scroll from his pocket, rolling it over his knuckles and Felix’s eyes go to it so that he doesn’t have to face that piercing green stare any longer. “I wanted to talk to you about this, but I—ah, couldn’t remember where I left it.”

“Oh?” asks Dimitri. “It must be important, then?”

“Everything I say is important,” says Claude, ignoring Dimitri's teasing tone. “Isn’t that right, my dear Duke Fraldarius?” He winks at Felix before turning back to Dimitri. “Felix will make a good witness for this. ”

Felix looks to Dimitri, who glances at him in confusion, before he looks back to Claude, brows furrowing. “Witness? To what?” 

“Months ago, before we had any idea where we might end up, I had Judith gather the Alliance lords and hold a council.” 

“That’s not. . .unusual,” says Dimitri. “I thought every major issue required a Roundtable.”

“You’re right, it’s not. What _is_ unusual is we were able to come up with an agreement quickly. It’s been redefined and reagreed upon while we’ve fought our mutual enemies, but. . .” Claude glances to Felix, smiling. 

Felix hates that smile. 

“You were there, y’know,” says Claude, pinning him with a stare.

Felix narrows his eyes. “Excuse me?” 

“When Judith first brought me this.” Claude all but saunteers to the head of the table. He looks over the maps they had been glancing over. If Dimitri had his way, they would just retreat to Faerghus, but the Alliance seemed to be keen on dumping more responsibility on their shoulders. “Ah, I see you don’t want Enbarr.” 

Dimitri frowns, sitting back in the chair, looking all the part of a king with his stern expression. “Enough games, Claude. It’s late. What is it you have?” 

Claude sets the parchment down before plopping in a chair, kicking his leg over the armrest. “It’s the agreement from the Alliance lords.”

“Wait, agreement on what?” Felix asks.

“Oh, that’s simple. I’m stepping down as the Leader of the Alliance.” 

Claude’s statement is matter of fact, nonchalantly cheery. Felix feels like he’s been hit. Dimitri sucks in a sharp breath at his side.

 _“Wh—?”_

“The Alliance nobles have agreed upon it.” Claude tilts his head, still smiling a tiny, feline smirk. “With this act,” he pats the parchment, “the Alliance is dissolved.” 

_“Claude—”_

Claude quickly rises to his feet, waving his hand. Before either he or Dimitri can move to make a grab at him, he’s making a fast exit towards the door. Dimitri’s chair scrapes against stone as he hastily rises. Felix instinctively reaches for his sword, but remembers its back in his dorm with Sylvain when his fist closes around air.

It doesn’t matter, anyway. Claude’s already at the door. He pauses, hand on the stone as he looks back over them.

“Congratulations, Your Majesty,” he says, in a tone that’s far too sincere for it to be any sort of ruse. ”You are the first king of the new, unified Fódlan.” 

There is silence between them for a long, long moment as Claude’s footsteps echo across the stone as he hurries away from the room. There is silence between them, before Dimitri scrabbles to grab the parchment. Felix watches his eye, still wide with shock, read over the words again and again. 

Felix fears he might tear the paper with the way his hands start to tremble. He reaches out and takes it. The declaration is short and to the point. The signatures it heralds are of all the utmost important Alliance nobles from the Roundtable. Felix notices that instead of Lord Glouscter’s signature, Lorenz’s is signed, just underneath Claude’s. It’s an official document. 

The _last_ official document of the Leicester Alliance.

“Can he do this?” Felix asks. His hands want to fist so he sets the parchment down before his fingers can curl and ruin the declaration. “Can he do this without your agreement?” 

Dimitri makes a small noise, akin to a wounded animal. “He already has. Byleth must already know, that’s why they. . .” He brings a hand to his forehead, pressing his thumb between his furrowed brow as he trails off. “I cannot believe this. What is he planning? Why would. . .?” 

He trails off again, sounding confused, lost. Felix resists the growling breath that’s welling up within him. He turns back to the table, looks over the mass of papers and documents that now fall on Dimitri’s shoulders.

“Well.” His tone is clipped. “This gives you your answer.” 

“Hm?” 

“I’m not leaving you to make a mess of Fódlan after it’s been unified.”

Dimitri blinks, staring at him. Realization dawns on his face, his eye widening. The joy that sweeps across it makes Felix make a terse noise, looking away. “You mean—?” 

“I’ll stay.”

_“Felix—”_

He chuffs a breath. “Don’t make a big deal out of this. There was never any doubt.”

Dimitri makes a small noise. “I can assure you, there was. You have always been set on following your own path, and I—”

 _“Dimitri_.” He turns, forcing himself to hold his gaze. “I have always followed my own path, yes, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t all leading back here. I did it to join the Alliance’s soldiers; I did it when I dragged you off of Gronder. My path has always led me back to you.” His face flames at the admission. He forces himself to look away, not able to stand how bright Dimitri’s expression is. “So, no. There was never any doubt.”

He can see Dimitri’s lips part in his peripheral vision. He’s certain if he stays in this room any longer, he’s going to hear nothing short of waxed poetic that’ll make him feel like his ears will catch on fire.

“It’s late,” he snaps, quickly, too flustered and embarrassed from just accepting a _job_ that was already his. Felix’s fists are tight, his shoulders tense. He starts to move towards the doors. “I’m going to go to bed.”

“Oh. . .” Dimitri sounds disappointed. Felix resists stopping to look over his shoulder. “I thought Sylvain was in your bed?”

That does, in fact, make him stop. He whirls on his heels, eyes narrowed into a glare that deepens when he sees the teasing smile on Dimitri’s lips. He makes a strangled, angry noise and turns, marching away.

“Then I’m going to sleep in _Sylvain_ ’s bed.”

Dimitri’s laugh echoes around the room, deep and rumbling. For something so mundane, he laughs as if it’s the funniest thing he’s heard. The sound is far too happy for Felix to feel anything but warmed by it. He pauses in the doorway while he laughs, taking in a few deep breaths to steady himself. He gentles his gaze when he looks back at Dimitri. Dimitri lifts a hand, wiping at his cheek, still grinning like he had when they were children. Felix flicks his eyes in a roll, just to have an excuse to look away. 

“Good night.”

Dimitri’s voice matches the soft tone of Felix’s as he answers. “Good night, Felix. Sleep well.”

**.**

The morning after Claude’s given them the dissolution of the Alliance, he is nowhere to be found. Felix isn’t surprised, and most of their friends and allies are too hungover to be of much help in the search. Dimitri and Dedue are pulled away by their professor-turned-Archbishop immediately after breakfast. Felix decides it’s up to him to figure things out while Byleth is busy, and he searches the grounds of the monastery, pinning down Lorenz when he’s in the gardens for a late morning tea.

“Where is he?” 

“Good morning to you, too, Felix,” Lorenz states, lifting his tea cup to his lips. “I am well, thank you for asking. How are you?”

Felix slams his hands onto the table. Lorenz frowns, but does not flinch. 

“Where is he?” he repeats. 

“I have no idea who you could mean,” says Lorenz, lifting an eyebrow. “Why don’t you join me for tea?”

Felix sneers. “I can’t believe you would allow the Alliance to fail than take the title of Duke yourself.”

Lorenz sighs, setting his teacup down. “I was against it at first,” he admits. He pauses, lips twisting. “I insist you sit for this conversation, Felix. I’ll pour you some tea.”

Felix rolls his eyes, tugging the chair opposite him out. “Save your tea. Just talk.”

Another sigh. Felix wishes he was Sylvain in that moment, still dead asleep in Felix’s dorm room. Instead, he sits across from Lorenz and listens as he explains the Roundtable’s reasoning. 

“Claude had never planned to rule the Alliance after the war.”

“What?”

Lorenz smiles. “He has ambitions far beyond Fódlan, you know.”

“Obviously, since he’s _gone_. Where did he go?”

His question is ignored, in favour of Lorenz listing the logistical reasonings that the Alliance had to step down as its own country and bend their knees to Faerghus’ king. There were plenty of arguments that had happened in the Roundtable, of everything that _could_ go wrong with their plan, but Lorenz had put his trust in Claude and hadn’t been led astray before. With how their plans had been laid, some of the Alliance nobles would seek places in Dimitri’s council after the coronation, though Lorenz informs him there would not be much merit to opening it _too_ widely.

“We, also, thought over how eventually moving the capital might be something to consider, but that won’t need to come into play for years.”

Felix’s lip curls in a sneer. “Move the capital from Fhirdiad?”

“Of course.” Lorenz raises a lone eyebrow, staring at Felix over the rim of his teacup. “It doesn’t make sense for a _unified_ nation to have the capital so far north, does it?”

“I don’t think it matters.”

Lorenz lifts his shoulders in an overtly practiced looking shrug. “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

Felix growls a noise, pushing his chair back. “This has been useless,” he states.

“I also enjoyed our time together; it’s always a pleasure talking to you, Felix.”

He rolls his eyes, storming away from the gardens. He finds the professor—( _Archbishop?_ )—with Dimitri, Dedue, and Seteth in the audience chamber. Dimitri looks relieved for the slightest moment, before he processes the emotion on Felix’s face.

“No luck?”

“Lorenz knows,” Felix states. “He refuses to tell me.”

“I’m quite certain Claude’s gone east,” Byleth says calmly.

“East? Why would he go east?” asks Felix.

Byleth tilts their head, glancing between the three of them as Seteth organizes papers on the desk in front of him. Dedue gives a soft noise.

“I had my suspicions, but I did not ask.”

“Claude would not have said even if you had,” Byleth assures. They turn to face Dimitri and Felix. “I have a strong suspicion that Claude has gone home.” 

Felix frowns. “Home?”

“Home as in his homeland, Felix,” Byleth says.

His frown deepens. “What is that supposed to mean?” 

“He was never as secretive as he could have been about his parentage,” Byleth continues. “Like Seteth with Flayn’s true identity.”

Seteth splutters. “I beg your pardon? She is nothing more than my—.”

“Your daughter, yes, we know.” Byleth waves their hand as Seteth makes a strangled noise. “Anyway, I believe Claude has returned to his homeland. He’ll come back eventually, when the nation is prepared for an open border.”

“An open—?” Dimitri makes a choked noise. “I have not quite come to terms that all of Fódlan will fall under my rule. You want me to think about opening the border now? There’s already so much I must do with Duscur, let alone opening the border!”

“Which is why,” Byleth says, their eyes landing heavily on Felix, “it is a good thing you will not be alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next chapter is technically the last, before the epilogue! Dimitri's coronation! I'm very excited to post it.
> 
> you can come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616) if you want!


	8. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix leaves the coronation's festivities early.

The day Dimitri is crowned king is an all day ordeal.

Felix’s day begins before dawn, where he dresses in unnecessarily fancy clothes. The silks and fur trims are unbearable, though he knows it's only the beginning of what he'll have to endure throughout the day as he tugs his boots on. Annette had demanded he braid his hair for the celebration, but the two attempts Felix tries are disastrous at best, so he settles for just tying it lowly at his neck before he heads out to go and fetch Sylvain. 

He doesn’t need to go far to find him. Sylvain’s already waiting for Felix down the hall, hands fidgeting with his own silken shirt, his eyes glancing nervously at the door to the chambers that the Margrave’s been residing in for the past few days.

They make their way through the corridors at a brisk pace, headed towards the kitchen to snag a quick breakfast before they have to gather Dimitri. Felix knows that as soon as the Margrave had arrived earlier in the week, Sylvain had been stuck in a _greeting_ with him for two hours, before finally being allowed to escape and head straight towards Mercedes and Dedue for comfort. When Felix had asked what his father had asked after, to justify keeping Sylvain trapped that long, Sylvain had just laughed his concerns away, unconvincingly.

“How’s he been?” Felix asks, without preamble.

Sylvain makes a face, knowing immediately who he means. “Unbearable,” he admits, but he takes in a breath and forces a smile on his face, ignoring the narrowing of Felix’s gaze. “But it’s alright! He’ll be leaving tomorrow and I will _not_. I will stay here in his stead on the King's personal council and all will be well."

Felix huffs, rolling his eyes. “So, you’re just going to avoid him all day today and tomorrow?”

Sylvain winks. “It’s one of my better plans, no?”

They find Ingrid after breakfast. She’s avoiding Mercedes and Annette, already dressed up in her formal wear. “They want to slather makeup on me,” she says, voice half whined. “I don’t mind a light coating, but the amount they want. . .” She shudders. “It just feels heavy.”

“You look really pretty with makeup, though!” Sylvain declares, before he makes a noise, as if just realising how that could sound. “Not that you’re _not_ already beautiful, but—”

“Ugh.” Ingrid rolls her eyes, cutting him off and putting him—(and Felix)—out of their misery of Sylvain’s spluttering. “Thank you, I suppose. I definitely don’t want that much on, though.”

“Just tell them that, then,” says Felix, tone curt but not unkind. “You’ll know they’ll be upset otherwise.”

Ingrid sighs again. “You’re right.” She glances between them, bright eyes taking in their appearance. “Are you off to find His Highness?”

Felix gives her a curt nod. “Dedue will undoubtedly be with him.”

“But Dedue _also_ needs to get fancy,” says Sylvain, stretching his arms overhead with a grin. “We’re relieving him of his non-duty duty.”

Ingrid chuffs a small laugh, waving them on. “I’ll see you two later, then.”

Walking through the corridors of Fhirdiad’s castle had been an unsettling experience the first time Felix had gone to find Dimitri and realised he was no longer living in his childhood bedroom. The walk to the King’s personal chambers was one Felix was still adjusting to. Sylvain keeps his mind off it, chattering lightly about how Mercedes and Annette were probably going to look amazing, and how Hilda probably got Marianne and the others’ beautiful dresses to wear.

Dedue has, surprisingly, already left by the time Sylvain and Felix let themselves into Dimitri’s room. Dimitri’s standing at the floor length mirror near his wardrobe, frowning at his reflection. The outfit Dedue had picked out is resplendent—pure whites and the vivid blue of House Blaidydd. Dimitri was still taken with wearing dark colours, mostly blacks and darker greys. It had been months since Felix had seen him in something so bright. He has to struggle to avoid staring, tearing his gaze away as Sylvain goes to the bed and flops down unceremoniously on it.

Felix stands by the door, crossing his arms while Sylvain lets out a low wolf whistle.

“The court ladies are going to _love_ you,” Sylvain drawls. His eyes land on Felix before he turns back to Dimitri. “Probably some of the noblemen, too.”

“Shut up, Sylvain,” Felix snaps, face heating. 

Luckily, Dimitri’s not paying attention, lost in his own thoughts as he inspects himself in the mirror. His own cheeks are a dusty pink and he plucks at the clasp holding his cloak around his shoulders. “Is this an alright outfit?” he asks. “Dedue said I should wear white and blue today, but does it draw _too much_ attention?”

The next look Felix and Sylvain exchange is one of mutual consternation before Sylvain sits up straighter from his lounged position. 

“Dimitri, buddy, you’re going to draw attention anyway. This is your coronation.”

“Ah, you’re right, but—.”

“You look fine,” says Felix. 

Dimitri blinks, glancing to him. “But not as nice as you.” A small smile tilts his lips, nerves clear. He blinks while Felix feels his face light with warmth. "—And Sylvain, of course,” he adds, hurriedly.

Felix scoffs, turning away. “You’re wasting time. We need to get to the throne room. Sylvain, fix your cloak, it’s crooked.”

“Oh, of course,” says Dimitri, while Sylvain snorts a laugh as Felix marches out of the room.

**.**

Dimitri’s coronation had taken nearly an entire month to plan. It had taken over a month just to prepare everything for the ceremony. A lot of paperwork. A lot of bickering nobles. Felix had grown sick of the planning almost as soon as it started, but there were _official_ documents that needed to be handled to satisfy those of the court. As Duke Fraldarius, and one of the soon-to-be King’s advisors, his presence was unluckily needed.

The coronation itself took most of the morning, and the ceremony after, where their allegiances to Dimitri had to be sworn, had been a long and arduous affair. Byleth had led it, their tone calm and commanding as they spoke. The only familiar face that was missing was Claude. Felix knew Byleth had to have known more than they let on while they had been back at the monastery, but when Felix had tried to hunt them down when they arrived in Fhirdiad, he had been faced with there being no time while the preparations were being finalized.

Sylvain had been right—Hilda had been able to dress Marianne and the others in high-end dresses that probably took her hours and sleepless nights to get ready in time for the event. Marianne’s hair is down and she blushes deeply, trying to hide behind it, when Sylvain compliments her before heading off with an excuse to find Ashe and Dedue and, Felix suspects, to avoid the heavy stare the Margrave is giving him. 

Felix doesn’t get the option to leave. Hilda loops her arm with his and coos about how _generous_ the Duke of Fraldarius is being, making certain two young, noble ladies aren’t without an escort from their parents for the duration of the ceremony. She used the excuse for closeness to gossip with him in quiet whispers in between Dimitri’s acceptance of the oaths of the kneeling lords and ladies. She brought up Claude without Felix needing to ask. She had claimed that no matter how much pressure she put on him, Lorenz wouldn't budge, and she had a strong suspicion the only other one who knew without a doubt as to where Duke Riegan had gone was Judith of Daphnel.

Much to Felix’s chagrin, the day does not end after the ceremonies. There is an _after_ celebration, filling the castle with bubbling noise and the scent of far too much food, considering the war had just ended. He had known it would happen from the planning, though he didn’t wish to be actively involved. Felix is forced to endure dancing from each of his closest friends, and before Hilda can cajole her way into another dance, he pushes her in the direction of Sylvain and tries to disappear. 

People notice as he makes his retreat. It was harder for him now as _Duke Fraldarius_ to slip away without eyes following him than it had been when he was just Rodrigue’s _second_ son. Thankfully, with his scowl still in place, nobody tries to stop him. Any of the few that dare get close enough as he makes his way to a set of side doors falter and settle back without a word.

The rest of the castle is quiet and dark. Felix crosses through corridors, heading to the east wing, without seeing anyone save for a few guards posted. 

There are plenty of training grounds in the castle, room enough to fit guards and nobles alike who might need the space. Felix finds himself in one he hasn’t personally stepped foot in nearly a decade. Glenn had favoured the training grounds in the eastern wing of the castle. Felix had always been tailing him with Dimitri whenever he went to train. There had been plenty of hours spent here, holding a sword that was taller than him against Dimitri, who was always too nervous that he would accidentally hurt him.

In the month it’s been since their return, Felix had made it his personal goal to make sure all of the training grounds were stocked and taken care of. It was another batch of paperwork on top of the massive pile he was gifted just for being Duke Fraldarius, but it was worth it to find a small haven away from the noise and nobles. 

There are no wooden training swords in the grounds, yet. The only weapons are dulled steel. Felix doesn’t plan on doing anything more than footwork drills. He grabs one of the blades, testing its weight, before bringing himself to the center of the grounds to begin to work.

He has no idea how much time he spends there, the only sound is the scuffle of his boots against the dirt, the sharp sound of his sword cutting through the air. He pauses only once, to strip out of his outer layers, leaving him in a high-necked tunic that keeps the biting chill in the air away while he works. 

When he hears the door open, and soft footsteps walk in, he doesn’t bother to turn around.

“You know, it’ll reflect badly on you if you’re gone from your own coronation party.” 

Dimitri chuckles. “I’ve never been one for all that attention.” 

“You’ll have to get used to it,” he states.

He turns on his heel to face him. Dimitri looks as well dressed as he had when Felix’s eyes had sought him out while he twirled Marianne around the dance floor. His hands are working at the clasp of his cloak and Felix feels the hint of a smile tilt his lips without his express permission.

“What are you doing?”

Dimitri smiles. “I think I could use a spar.”

“In the middle of your party?: Felix narrows his eyes. “In your silk finery?”

He quirks a brow, his eye coasting over him. Felix ignores the heat rising to his face. Dimitri doesn’t pause, his cloak coming off, and he walks forward. Felix watches as he drapes it gingerly over the weapons rack and picks out a lance.

“I can apologise to the laundress later if my cloak gets some dirt on it,” he says. Felix sees his chin tilt towards the pile of Felix’s outer layers and when he turns back, he has a teasing lilt to his tone. “I, at least, will not have as much dust on mine as yours do.”

Felix flicks his eyes in a roll. “Come on, then.”

They trade blows as easily as barbed words, though Dimitri’s quips are always gentler than Felix's are. His are paired with joyful smiles, smiles that cause Felix’s heart beats faster from more than just exertion. Felix does his best to ignore the thumping in his chest, his words snappish and brusque.

“You know,” Dimitri says, giving him a little smile when Felix ducks under the sweep of his lance, “I’ve asked the professor— _er_ , the archbishop, I suppose—if they have any idea where Claude went.” 

“And?” Felix goes for a jab that is easily parried. “Anything more illuminating than the last time we asked?”

“They claim they don’t know for certain, though their suspicions are high. They know he’ll return soon, but. . .” Dimitri readies another slash, but Felix steps out of reach. He grunts with the effort, but moves forward as he speaks, “Until then, it’s just our former classmates and ourselves, trying to piece together a new Fódlan.” 

Felix has nothing illuminating to say to that, and pushes himself into their bout. The next move he uses is a dirty trick, one he had learned after months of sparring with Leonie. As soon as Dimitri extends himself for a stab, Felix moves, forcing him into overextending himself. A twist of Felix’s foot results in Dimitri falling to his knees. He puffs out a breath of laughter as Felix rounds on him, peering up at him from where his hair’s fallen loose of the tie it had been in, lance loose in his grasp. Felix brings his sword up to Dimitri’s neck, awaiting his yield. Dimitri doesn’t give him one, just smiles up at him.

“This again?” he asks.

“I fought alongside Leonie for so long, it’s hard not to remember her tricks. She dropped me into a pit, once.” 

“A _pit?_ ”

He doesn’t answer, just hums. Felix is still holding a blade to the king’s throat, but Dimitri seems unaffected. His smile is soft, one that forces Felix’s lips to curl up on their own accord. 

“Do you yield, _Your Majesty_?”

Dimitri’s eye flicks in a roll at the sardonic tone, and Felix startles at that enough that the blade moves far enough from his neck, so he has the space to move. Instead of rising to his feet, though, Dimitri shifts his weight onto his haunches—then flops onto his back, spreading his arms and legs as he lets out a long breath. 

Felix blinks, watching. The lance rolls away from him; Dimitri’s eye goes up to the sky. Felix lets his gaze roam over him as he lays there, completely relaxed. His outfit is ruined. Dedue might throttle Felix for allowing it to happen, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when Dimitri’s gaze flits back to him, eye bright in the moonlight.

“Others are going to wonder where you’ve gone,” Felix states, stepping back. He rolls his wrist, the sword moving with the motion. “You look like a mess.” 

“No worse than you, I am certain.” Dimitri tilts his head, eye narrowing as he considers. He pats the ground. “Join me.” 

Felix scoffs. “Why would I?” 

_“Felix_. Please?” 

He can’t say what compels him to agree. If it was the way his name was said, as if Dimitri was speaking something reverarant. Perhaps it was the plea. Perhaps it was because Dimitri had asked, and Felix’s instincts tell him he must comply.

He sits beside him, keeping his elbows on his knees as he sets the sword aside. He thinks this will satisfy Dimitri, but a warm hand snags his bare arm. He has just enough time to give an indignant yelp before he’s tugged, and goes flopping to the dirt below. Dimitri’s grinning when Felix glares at him, a wide, toothy smile that reminds him too much of their childhood for Felix to stare at it too long.

He forces his gaze away, crossing his arms over his chest as he fixes his glare undeservingly at the moon. “Now my clothes are ruined, too.”

“I’m quite certain you had no plans on returning to the festivities,” says Dimitri easily.

Felix doesn’t say anything to that, just lays on the ground beside him, silently staring at the stars.

He decides there could be nothing more ridiculous than this: the King and his Duke, laying on the dirt ground of the training yard, the only thing lighting the night the moon and stars above them. It was cold. Faerghus’ winter was coming early this year, befitting given what they had all accomplished.

The silence is companionable. They’ve spent plenty of time with one another since returning to Fhirdiad, but they’ve never truly had the time to just sit in each other’s company. They’re either with the others, or going over documents, or doing anything else besides being able to _sit_. 

It’s. . .nice. 

Dimitri breaks the quiet first. His voice is gentle, a wave lapping at his toes, just loud enough to get his attention but not too loud, if Felix wants to ignore him.

“I have a question for you, Felix, if I may.” 

Felix grunts. “You’re the _King_. You don’t need my permission to speak freely.” 

Dimitri huffs a quiet laugh. “I would like it, anyway.” 

Felix glances to him out of the corner of his eye. Dimitri is watching him, shamelessly. It makes his face heat as he turns his eyes back to the stars. “. . .Alright.”

“Last month, at the monastery, that night Claude decided to leave us this nation—”   
_“Us_?” Felix interrupts.

“I, ah—. I meant, simply, that we are all working together. Are we not?” 

Felix narrows his eyes, glancing to him. He can see the pink colouring Dimitri’s cheeks, but turns his gaze away. “Whatever.” 

“Anyway,” Dimitri says, after clearing his throat. “You made a comment that night. One that, I must confess, I have not been able to stop thinking about.” 

Felix wracks his memory. All he can truly remember from that night is feeling muted rage at Claude helping unite Fódlan, then immediately running away. And then there was the following day, where Lorenz had done nothing but simper. In truth, the last few days he had spent at the monastery, Felix had been more irritable than he had been in months. He had probably said a lot of things he'd regret hearing parrotted back at him. “What was it?” 

“You told me you would stay at my side. That there ‘was never any doubt,’ on your behalf.” 

Felix feels his face warm instantly with a fresh blush; he covers it with a small sneer as his arms tighten across his chest. “And?” 

“What did you mean by that?” 

He can see Dimitri shift, rolling onto his side. Felix knows it’s so he can watch him fully and he hates the way the blush crawls from his face down his neck. “What? You think there was a deeper meaning?”

“Perhaps _hope_ would be the better word.” 

Felix tilts his head, glaring. Dimitri is still smiling. 

“I would just like to know.” 

His eyes go down to his mouth, that teasing lilt, before Felix huffs, wrenching his eyes away. He drops them to where Dimitri’s arm is flexed against the ground, holding himself propped up. That doesn’t help the heat in his face. He tilts his head back, hitting the ground harder than he intends. 

“Why?” he manages, after a moment. His voice comes out too soft when he speaks next. “You already know.”

“Perhaps,” Dimitri agrees. “I would not like to assume, though.”

“You— _ugh_.” Felix finally unpeels his arms from his chest, reaching to push his palms against his eyes. “You’re so difficult.”

There’s a soft chuckle. “Because I’m asking for clarification?”

“Because you’re asking me to say something you _already know!_ ”

A hand covers one of his. Felix resists for a moment before he lets Dimitri tug his palms from his face. He’s overheated, face on fire, and he scowls up at Dimitri as he crowds closer. Dimitri's eye is serious, his hand warm against the back of Felix's, fingers laced between his own. Felix looks away, hiding as best he can as exposed as he feels he is.

“Then may I speak freely?”

“No,” says Felix, voice snippy. “That’s not allowed.”

“You told me earlier—”

“I changed my mind,” Felix says. He tries to squirm away, but Dimitri’s hand moves from gripping his hand to his bicep, pinning him in place. “No,” he repeats. “We’re not doing this.”

“Why not?” asks Dimitri, tilting his head. It causes his hair to fall over his forehead. Felix’s other hand is halfway up to brush the loose locks away before he catches himself and drops it to the dirt below them. Dimitri’s eye flicks to it, before he brings his gaze back to Felix’s eyes, holding eye contact that feels like it burns through him. “Felix.”

It has to be the way he says his name. It rolls off Dimitri's tongue like a song. He says it with so much emotion packed into _two syllables_ , and Felix understands all that he hasn't said. They’ve known each other nearly their entire lives. It shouldn’t make Felix feel this way, just hearing Dimitri utter his name as if he’s worshipping him. It shouldn't feel as _personal_ , just hearing it.

His lips part. He braces himself to tell Dimitri to let him go. To get back to the party before Dedue comes looking for him. To leave Felix laying on this cold, dirt ground so that he can reevaluate his life choices.

It has to be the way he said his name, he reasons. The fact that his thoughts are spiralling out of control, nothing coherent sticking that could get them both out of the training grounds and back to the party where Felix knows he'd down at least three glasses of wine before being able to speak again.

Felix’s tongue wets his lips. He watches Dimitri’s eye dart down, staring openly at his mouth. His mind tells him to tell Dimitri to go. His heart clenches as he thinks the words, _Go. You need to get back._

What he manages to say, voice nothing more than a rasped breath, is: “I love you.”

Dimitri’s eye widens, which Felix finds as ridiculous as the blush that covers his face. As if he hadn’t _coerced_ Felix into admitting his feelings. As if his palm isn’t still warm against Felix’s arm and Felix’s heart isn’t pounding in his chest. 

The look of surprise lasts for just a moment, before Dimitri’s face crumples with emotion. Relief. Joy. _Affection_. “You do?”

He sounds so hesitant, so afraid, and Felix cannot truly blame him, after all Felix has done to him, but to question him now—

Felix’s hand moves, grabbing Dimitri by the collar of his shirt. He makes a startled noise as he gets pulled down, one that Felix swallows down as he kisses him. 

It’s not a good kiss. Their teeth clack and Dimitri’s nose gets in the way. It’s violent, all things considered. Dimitri’s weight lands on top of him due to his startling when Felix tugged him down. His teeth nick a small cut into Felix's bottom lip. When Felix draws back, he has to put a hand on Dimitri’s chest to push him up so he doesn’t accidentally get crushed by him. 

Felix’s face _burns_. He looks away, licking his lips, tasting Dimitri and the tang of copper from blood. “Yes,” he manages. “I love you.”

Dimitri’s hand reaches up, cupping his cheek. His thumb brushes gently against burning skin as he turns Felix’s head so that he looks to him. “I am glad,” he murmurs. “I do not know why, nor do I think I deserve—”

“Don’t,” Felix interrupts. He grabs Dimitri’s hand, pressing it against his cheek as he shakes his head. “Don’t say that. Just tell me you love me, too.”

“Oh. _Oh_ , of course I do.” Dimitri’s breath rushes out of his lungs, like a dam collapsing. “I have loved you for a very long time, Felix, though I do not think I realised what it was until later on. My affections for you have—”

Felix interrupts him again, but this time with his mouth on his. Dimitri makes another startled, little noise before he kisses him back, his hand sliding down from Felix’s cheek to the back of his neck. For just a moment, Felix can believe it’s just them alone in the world. The only witness is the moon overhead as they kiss one another while lying in the dirt of the training grounds. They don’t truly part for breath, more so they part to breathe little confessions to one another before their lips find each other’s once more.

The door to the training grounds opens just as Dimtri’s tongue parts his lips. Dimitri moves away, startled, and Felix’s hand immediately tries to go for his sword, but it’s too far. Sylvain all but strolls in, eyes sweeping the training grounds at eye level, before they drop to the ground.

“Hey, Felix, have you seen His Majest— _y_? Oh. _Ohh_.” The grin that slithers across Sylvain’s face is one Felix wants to smack off. He wants to shake him until the amusement is gone from his tone as he lets out a low whistle. “Well, that solves that mystery.” 

“Sylvain, I will stab you,” Felix growls. 

“Oh, sure, sure.” He waves a hand, leaning back against the door and crossing his legs at the ankle. He’s still grinning, _smug_. “Your Majesty, everyone’s looking for you. Shall I tell them you’ve _retired_ for the evening?” 

Felix lunges for the training sword, wishing all the more it wasn’t dulled steel. His other blade is with his outer clothes, but he’s certain dulled steel could at least get Sylvain to take him seriously. A hand grabs his wrist, all but yanking him back down, as Dimitri stills him, stammering out an answer as he does.

“Ah! No, Sylvain, that will not be needed, thank you, though. I implore you to rejoin the festivities. I will. . .tidy up and then come back as well.” 

Sylvain’s grin widens. “Yeah, okay.” He winks. “I’ll just let Dedue know not to be so worried. You two have fun.” He turns and opens the door, but before he leaves, he calls back, “Don’t do anything I would do!”

The door all but slams shut. Felix knows Sylvain is just outside, snickering to himself. 

He groans. “I’m going to stab him. One of these days, I’m going to stab him.”

“He has been stabbed plenty of times in battle,” Dimitri says. His fingers curl a loose lock of Felix’s hair behind his ear, following it with a gentle and chaste peck to the arc of his cheekbone. “I ask that you not stab my advisors.”

Felix huffs a breath, crossing his arm. Dimitri’s fingertips trail blazes as they trace gently over his skin. 

“Will you come back with me?” he asks. “We have yet to have a dance.”

Felix snorts. “You want me to dance with you?”

Dimitri smiles, widely. There’s not an ounce of shame on his face. “Yes.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Fine. But I’m not waltzing back in there in these clothes. I need to change, too.”

“Right, of course.” Dimitri snags his hand, and before Felix has a chance to realize it’s happening, he’s being tugged to his feet. Dimitri rights him when Felix stumbles, and he sighs a breath as his hands rest on Dimitri’s chest, steadying himself.

“You know, if he’s not outside laughing at us, Sylvain has already told most of our friends.”

Dimitri hums. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“That the King and the Duke of Fraldarius were found necking like teenagers on the training grounds instead of mingling with the nobles we’re supposed to be wooing to this new nation?”

The smile Felix gets in response makes him groan and Felix steps away. 

“Go get changed,” he snaps, no heat behind his words. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

Dimitri gives him another smile, another chaste kiss, before he goes and gathers his cloak from where he had left it. He doesn't leave, though Felix didn’t truly expect him to. Felix puts their weapons back in their place, collecting his own clothes. Dimitri is still holding the door for him, waiting, and Felix rolls his eyes but follows him out into the castle proper.

Sylvain is, thankfully, not outside the doors laughing to himself when they enter the hall. The rest of the castle is still at the celebration, the corridors deserted. He walks beside Dimitri, close enough that they almost brush with every step, but distant enough that Felix misses the warmth of him already.

_Ridiculous_ , he thinks. He could easily just reach out and take Dimitri’s hand. He doubts he would complain in the slightest. His fingers curl into a fist instead, and he resigns himself to hurrying their pace so they can change, but Dimitri’s hand brushes against Felix’s fist, his voice soft when he speaks.

“Felix, ah. . .This may be too soon to ask, but I would like to—”

Felix makes an angry noise, face lighting with heat, and snatches Dimitri’s hand up. Dimitri hums, a small, pleased sound, though when Felix turns to glare at him, his ears and face are as red as Felix feels he must be.

He huffs a breath, turning his gaze down the corridor. Their way is lit by sconces, the hall quiet save for the sound of their footsteps. Dimitri’s thumb brushes across Felix’s knuckles and he squeezes his fingers tight reflexively. 

They don’t say any other words to one another as they follow the lightened path of the halls. They settle in silence, mutually enjoying the warmth of each other’s hands in their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the place I live is officially on lockdown so instead of waiting, I just figured I'd post the rest of the story!! chapter nine is a short epilogue that takes place a few years down the road.
> 
> i'm on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616)


	9. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix wakes to a sunlit day, years later.

Felix wakes slowly, trudging his way out of sleep. He’s warm, almost impossibly so, and everything around him is soft and comforting. There’s a snug weight against his back and waist, strong and steadying. The sheets are cozy, tempting him back to sleep even as he blinks his eyes open. Dawn light filters in through the small crack in the curtains. The room is chilled; Felix winds his way deeper under the covers to chase the warmth of his bedmate as he turns in his arm, pressing his face against a chest. He’s unsurprised that Dimitri’s awake already, the arm draped around his waist tightening and tugging him closer. A cold nose slides across his cheek and Felix hisses his discomfort, which only gets him a soft chuckle in response.

“I’m cold,” Dimitri murmurs, and Felix cracks an eye open to see him trying to pout, his eye closed and looking far too pleased despite himself.

He huffs, closing his eyes. He burrows, nosing into the warm skin of Dimitri’s neck. “That’s a _you_ problem,” he mutters. 

Another laugh. Dimitri’s palm slips down his back, a burning ember against his skin. He presses Felix closer against his chest. “We should get up soon, shouldn’t we?”

“Mmn. How long have you been awake?”

Dimitri shrugs, a half-aborted motion against the covers. “A while. I wanted to watch you wake.”

_“Ugh_.” Felix crinkles his nose. “Sap.”

Dimitri pulls himself away, with much effort since Felix tries to stay clinging to his warmth. It wasn’t his fault Dimitri radiated heat. When Dimitri succeeds in getting Felix’s face away from his clavicle, his lips press kisses down Felix’s cheek. Felix grumbles mildly, his complaints half-hearted at best.

“You kept me up half the night, let me sleep more.”

“My _deepest_ apologies, beloved,” Dimitri says, unapologetically, breath ruffling Felix’s hair. 

Felix quirks an eyebrow, just because he knows Dimitri can’t see his eyeroll with his eyes still closed. He cuddles closer, lips pressing against the familiarly smooth patch of scar tissue on Dimitri’s shoulder. The soft noise Dimitri makes when Felix nuzzles back into his neck makes him smirk, thinking he’s won. 

He’s wrong, naturally. There’s a few moments of peace between them, Dimitri’s fingers trailing through Felix’s hair, then it’s broken by loud knocking on the door. 

“Your Majesty,” comes a familiar voice through the heavy wood. 

Felix doesn’t bother swallowing his sigh of discontent at his sleep time being officially over as Dimitri takes in a deep breath. He sits back slightly, and raises his voice to call to Dedue that he can enter. Felix squeezes his eyes closed, trying to burrow deeper under the covers as the door opens. 

“Good morning, Dedue.” Dimitri’s voice is far too cheerful. 

“A messenger arrived moments ago, Your Majesty,” says Dedue.

“Dedue,” Dimitri sighs, “it is not your job to tell me this.”

“I am aware. But the messenger came bearing news that Claude and the Almyran ambassadors will be arriving in an hour.”

Felix groans. “Being Claude’s deliverer is definitely not your job, either.”

He hears Dedue’s soft huff of amusement. “Perhaps not, but I am the only other one with a spare key to His Majesty’s chambers.”

Dimitri thanks him, and Dedue takes his leave. As soon as the door’s shut, Dimitri’s fingers smooth hair away from Felix’s forehead, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple.

“I think we have to get up, now,” he murmurs.

Felix sighs, opening his eyes and sitting up. “Fine.” He stretches his arms above his head, hearing his joints pop and settle. “Not like Claude’s ever made _us_ wait before.”

Dimitri snorts a soft laugh, climbing from the bed. “I can brush your hair, if you’d like.”

He grumbles, pushing himself from the bed. He doesn’t put up the pretense of a fight, just settles on the bench in front of the dressing table, letting Dimitri happily grab the brush. He hums as he does it, and Felix’s lips curl up into a small, pleased smile while his eyes close. As soon as Dimitri’s finished, Felix returns the favour, pulling part of Dimitri’s hair up to tie into a small tail at the back of his head.

The half-light of dawn grows into the full light of morning by the time they’re dressed and ready. Felix readjusts his tunic as he waits for Dimitri to slip his eyepatch on. “Presentable?” Dimitri asks, when he catches Felix staring.

Even after all this time, Felix can’t stop the blush that rises to his cheeks as he looks away, scoffing. “I suppose so.”

Dimitri takes it in stride, sliding right up to him. Felix narrows his eyes as one hand takes his own, lacing their fingers together, and the other presses against the small of his back. “We’re going to be late.”

He gets a non-committal hum in response as Dimitri pushes him forward against his chest, his thumb brushing against his back and his other hand lifting their joined ones higher into the air. “We have a bit of time.”

_“Dimitri._ ”

Dimtri’s lips turn down in a small, petulant frown unbecoming of a king, or a man that has the height and build he does. Felix rolls his eyes, squeezes his fingers around Dimitri’s.

“Later,” he says. “Claude will whine if we’re late.”

Dimitri hums, moving his mouth to the back of Felix’s hand. His lips trail lightly over his skin before they settle against the ring resting on his finger.

“Later,” he murmurs. 

“Yes,” says Felix. He tries to take his hand back, but doesn’t succeed. “Dimitri—.”

Dimitri’s lips quirk, still pressed against the metal on his finger. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Felix sighs, tightening his grip on Dimitri’s hand and lowering them. His other lifts, fixing the stray strands of hair that have fallen over the eyepatch Dimitri wears. “I know you will. Let’s go.”

“I love you,” Dimitri says, smiling happily as Felix leads them to the door. 

He can’t stop the smile that curls his own lips, nor can he stop the rush of affection at hearing the words spoken aloud. “I love you, too. Now can we go?”

Dimitri hums, obviously pleased. His hand is still holding Felix’s as he darts around to pull it open. “But of course, beloved. We would not want to be late.”

Felix makes a soft noise. “You’re ridiculous,” he states, no heat in his words. 

He follows Dimitri out the door, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and there we go!!! thank you all so much for reading, i hope i didn't disappoint anyone!
> 
> come talk to me on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/wintersrose616)


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